


A Fire of Devotion

by solitariusvirtus, tenten_d



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambition, Angst, Blah blah you already know all this stuff, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Dynamics, Middle Ages, Politics, Power Dynamics, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3962701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenten_d/pseuds/tenten_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the sweating sickness sweeps through the  land of Westeros, it sinks its fangs into nobles and peasants alike. None is safe. Princess Shaena Targaryen is stricken with the illness and though all is done to save her, her worth is lost in sweat and fever.</p><p>Rhaegar Targaryen is obliged to look elsewhere for a wife. And the best place to start, to his mind is at Lord Whent's tourney, a celebration for the survivors and a place where alliances will be forged and fates broken.</p><p>Lyanna Stark is looking to escape a prospective alliance with House Baratheon. And those who seek shall find. To be given a crown besides, far from being a hardship, is actually quite appealing.</p><p>Or, that AU in which it is Lyanna who has Southron ambitions, and they run far deeper than her father's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know. I don't suppose I expect much of a response. It's just something to write. *shrugs*
> 
> Fair warning, though, Lyanna and Cersei will be friends in this. So, yeah, there is that...

Rhaegar took his mother’s hand in his own, trying to ignore the thin red lines he could see peeking from beneath the sleeve of her kirtle. “Pray, do not fret, mother. Shaena is in good hands.”

The Queen looked at him with soft damp eyes, doe-like and filled with pain. He looked away in shame, unable to hold her gaze. How could he have? Rhaella’s fingers clenched around his hand, her grip tight, had she had any true strength she might have bruised him. Rhaegar allowed her that.

“I should have never allowed her to go riding about,” the Queen said, her voice atremble. “What shall your father do to me if she dies, I do not even wish to contemplate.”

Neither did he. Which was why Rhaegar prayed she didn’t die. “Don’t speak like that, mother. Shaena is strong; she always has been. My sister will pull through.” He hoped she would, else the King would somehow manage to blame it on all the innocent heads, as he always did.

He heard rather than saw his mother weeping gently. Seated as she was , with her chin falling to her chest, he could not make out more than the top of her silver head. She worried and fretted. That had been her preoccupation for as long as he could remember. Rhaegar could not recall a time when she had been joyful, truly joyful. There was a sorrow about Rhaella Targaryen which followed her wherever she went, shadowing her, hounding her steps.

But for all that, she had made it her mission in life to protect her children. And it was time he returned the favour. Rhaegar would see to it, as soon as possible, that no one would ever harm her again. Yet that was a matter for another time.

Pycelle finally opened the door that led into the antechamber and came out of Shaena’s bedchamber. The old maester, bent and frail-looking, stepped into the room with a sort of cloying coyness that Rhaegar found both repulsive and fascinating. He resolved not to make any of his feelings known, however.

“Maester,” Rhaella breathed out, “how is my child?” The ever concerned mother would have stood to her feet, had Rhaegar not placed his hands on her shoulder, holding her down.

“The Princess,” the old man spoke, slowly, quietly, as if he had been running all about and was just then regaining his breath, “has a high fever, Your Grace.” He rocked on his heels, hiding his hand behind his back. “She is, I fear,” he stopped to draw in a gulp of air, “beyond my reach.”

His mother let out a sharp sound of pain, drawing back into herself like a wounded animal. Rhaegar fixed the maester with a cold look. “What mean you by that? Beyond your reach?”

“I have tried every draught known to man. But the Princess had not a mere chill. It is the sweating sickness.” Of course it would be. Half the population of King’s Landing had been infected by the plague. “If her fever does not come down by the end of the day, she will expire.”

Rhaella emitted another sob. “Nay, not my daughter. Pray save her, maester.”

“Your Grace,” Pycelle’s sickly voice filled his ears, “there is nothing more to be done.”

“I want to see her,” Rhaegar said suddenly. If Shaena was to go, she would not be alone.

At the pronouncement, Pycelle’s face went ashen. “’Tis not possible, Your Grace, she has taken the sweating sickness and is liable to spread the disease. You cannot go in there.”

“She is my sister, maester. If I as her brother abandon her, then who else shall be by her side?” He pulled away from his mother who had been trying to hold onto him. “Pray don’t worry, mother. If the Stranger comes, I shall send him back empty-handed. He will not have Shaena.”

“Oh, my dear child,” Rhaella cooed gently. She gave him a tremulous smile. “You do not have to do this. Let me stay by her side. I shall care for her properly.”

“Nay, mother. I shall speak to Shaena first. And after, if you wish, I shall leave her in your care.” He kissed the top of Rhaella head, trying to impart to her the notion that not all was yet lost. The sweating sickness had claimed lives in great number. But not all who suffered from it had died.

“This is too dangerous,” Pycelle sputtered. “What should the King say if he finds out?”

“Nothing, maester, for he shan’t find out. And if he does, I will know who to look to.” That seemed to quieten the old man. Rhaegar left his mother sitting in her chair and walked towards the door which separated him from Shaena.

If he looked back, he might have second thought. So he didn’t. Death was frightening. But all would face the Stranger sooner or later and if it was his time to perish, he would. Rhaegar entered his sister’s room as quietly and gently as he could.

The first thing that hit him was the scent. A sickroom held a particular peculiar scent. Shaena’s bedchamber was chocked in a sweet smelling mist, heavy to the stomach. The scent burned in his nostrils and down his throat. Rhaegar thought for one moment that he would be sick. There was no air. He looked to the windows to see they had been barred. Dark and oppressive was his sister’s cage.

Rhaegar neared her bedside and looked at her. Once lustrous silver-blonde locks clung to her forehead, limp and grimy. Her skin was awashed in sweat and her skin was pale, a sickly, death-like colour. It broke his heart to see her so, Shaena who had been full of life.

“Sister,” he called gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her skin burned through the shift. He pulled his hand back instinctively at feeling the hot, damp flesh. “Shaena, can you hear me.”

Her eyelids fluttered and she, with great difficultly, opened her eyes. Her lips moved. No sound came though for the first few tries. And then, a small croak broke through, “Rhaegar.” She swallowed, her throat working convulsively as if she had choked upon his name. “Rhaegar,” she repeated weakly, somehow managing to pull out her hand from under the covers and reach out for him.

Something inside of his roared in fury and frustration. He took her hand in his. “Aye, it’s your brother, Rhaegar.” It was not fair. It should not have been his sister that caught ill. If anyone deserved such a fate than it was his father. Aerys should have ridden out that day and caught the pestilence. The realm would have thanked him for it. “Would you like some water?” he asked softly, afraid that raising his voice might do her harm.

Shaena managed a nod. Rhaegar left her side momentarily to pour her some water from the pitcher. It was hot as well. Everything in the damnable room was hot, an oppressive heat that sucked every ounce of power out of his sister. Rhaegar helped her drink a few sips. She had barely taken some of it on her lips. A stray droplet slid down her chin. Light lilac eyes burned, shining with fever and pain.

“I don’t want to die,” she cried out all of a sudden, her slight, emaciated frame turning with such alacrity that Rhaegar had to catch her so she wouldn’t end up jumping off the bed. “I don’t want to die, Rhaegar. I want to live. I want to visit Highgarden with mother and see the roses in bloom.”

“And you shall,” he promised. “As soon as you are feeling better, we shall go to Highgarden, all of us. You and me and mother, with Daeron, Aegon, Jaehaerys and Viserys.” Thank the Seven father had decided to leave the younger children on Dragonstone. They might have caught the pestilence as well. “You just need to get a little better first. Promise you will, Shaena. Promise not to give up.”

“I don’t feel well,” she moaned, trying to hide herself away beneath the covers. “I’m tired.” He shifted positions and she jumped, her feeble clutch on him growing stronger. “Nay, don’t leave me. It’s dark in here and I don’t like the dark. Stay with me.”

“I am not going anywhere,” Rhaegar assured her. He drew her into his side, resting his frame alongside hers.

They were supposed to have been planning by now. They were supposed to have made alliances. Rhaegar brushed the matted hair from her head, feeling the stringy locks coil around his fingers. He didn’t dare comb through it, afraid he might cause Shaena pain. There were so many knots.

“Brother, if I should die–“

“You will not die,” he cut her off. “Don’t ever say that. You won’t die. There is so much to live for.” Gods, he hoped she didn’t die. “Save your strength, sister mine.”

* * *

 

It was nothing short of a miracle. Rhaegar pressed his palm to her forehead to make sure he hadn’t dreamt it. Nay, it was true, the fever had gone down. Shaena slept peacefully, her chest rising and falling slowly, her breathing even and a little less shallow.

Rhaegar left her as she was and strode to the door, throwing it open. Those outside gave a start. “Where is Pycelle?” he demanded, paying no attention to that one servant girl who scurried out of his way. Understandably, they all feared for their lives. “Summon the Grand Maester,” he told them, turning his back on the after and re-entering the bedchamber.

Without waiting for anything else, Rhaegar unbolted the windows and opened them wide, allowing in the rays of the sun and the first brush of cool, sweet air since he had entered his sister’s sickroom. He leaned over, trying to drag into his lungs as much air as he could. The Seven knew he had missed it. Rhaegar turned to look at Shaena. She slept still. Her skin looked rosier in the daylight, her hair not quite so dull and her general appearance much improved.

And he was glad for it.

Pycelle took a long time to arrive and he was much annoyed to see that the confinement had been broken. He muttered something Rhaegar did not care to decipher and approached the bed cautiously. His gnarled fingers touched his sister’s forehead. “Aye. aye, this is better. Much better.” That he knew too. Rhaegar waited for something more. But Pycelle had no other words. “Your Grace, I must examine Her Grace.” He might have insisted, Rhaegar considered, but in the end, it was not something he did.

Had it been him, he thought, he would have liked his privacy. So he left Shaena into the hands of Pycelle and stepped into the antechamber. The Queen, who had been undoubtedly made aware of the situation, came panting through the door. “Rhaegar,” she called, running straight to him, wrapping her arms around him. “Is it true? Is my daughter saved?”

“Aye, she lives. I left her with Pycelle.” And he should have liked to make for his own bedchamber too, to wash away the reminders of sickness which clung to him. But he could not leave. Not until he heard from Pycelle. As much as the man annoyed him, Rhaegar could not deny that he knew his craft.

And so, like before, he stood by his mother as they waited together. “Has father not returned yet?” he could not help but ask.

“Nay, the hospitality of Lord Bracken must be to his taste. It is wiser of him, you know, not to expose himself.” By which one should understand that beside being a coward, he was heartless as well. Rhaegar acknowledged the answer with a small nod. His own daughter could have been dead and he chose to see to his own pleasures.

“There. I think I hear Pycelle coming,” his mother said in the next moment.

And so it was. Pycelle, having examined his restored patient, was coming to them to tell of his findings. “Your Grace, my Queen,” he bowed stiffly, coughing lightly. “I have done my very best and the Princess shall live.” That brought a smile upon his mother’s face. Rhaegar, however, could sense that something was not quite right. Pycelle rubbed his hand together. “And while she will live, I am sorry to say she will live without ever producing children. The fever has left her barren.”

Rhaella gasped. “Nay, it cannot be. She is to wed Rhaegar. They should rule together.”

“Alas, Your Grace, all the signs are there,” came the artful mournful reply. “Besides, her illness had left the poor child weak. She has yet to wake up, so I might speak to her, but the damage may not have ended there.”

“But she will live,” Rhaegar pointed out. That was the important part.

“Aye, she will,” Pycelle agreed. “I shall write to the King, Your Grace,” he informed the Queen. “He will be glad to hear Her Grace is better, as he was ever concerned for her.”

So concerned, in fact, that he had taken himself off to the gods knew where and had been patiently waiting, to see which fate would be bestowed upon his daughter. “Be certain to express our anxiety to have him back, maester,” he could not help but say. “Shaena, most of all, has missed him terribly.”

It was all a mummer’s farce. Rhaegar had learned his role well enough and Shaena followed her own act adequately. Despite what Pycelle said, his sister had been strong. She would pull through and when the time came, she would rejoin him. If he knew anything about Shaena was that her sweetness was matched only by her shrewdness and stubbornness.

“I wish to see my daughter,” the Queen spoke, pushing past the maester. “Rhaegar, you must see to your own rest. If I hear you have not gone straight to your bedchamber, I shall be very cross.” Being sent to his rooms like a child might have not sat well with him at another time. As it was, he accepted his mother’s concern.

And he was tired besides. What good would it serve to be running around when he was dead on his feet? “I shall see you soon, mother,” he told her just before she entered Shaena’s bedchamber.

His own rooms were waiting for him as he had left them. Rhaegar eyes the harp near the window. His fingers flexed. He would not play. After Shaena woke up, he promised to himself. He would play for her. Rhaegar sat down on the edge of the bed, stripping away his garments. He was more than certain they would have to be burned.

But, too weary to concern himself with anything other than sleep, he found his way under the covers, hid his face from the sun and slowly fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

 

“Look at her,” the King growled, his thin, long-nailed finger pointing at the girl seated on the bed. “The fever has made her dumb.” His words, however, did not seem to reach his child. Shaena was staring with something akin to wonder at the sunrays which played upon the wooden floors. “Gods be good. It would have been better had she dies. Barren and dumb,” he hissed.

“Father, she can hear you,” Rhaegar tried to intervene. “Shaena merely needs some time to came back to herself. The sickness took its toll on her.” The fever had left her so weak. It was little wonder that a few days of relative health failed to restore her.

“Don’t act smart with me, boy,” his father snapped. “I know better than you. And I say she is useless. There, you see. She watches the sun,” he sneered. “Why have the gods cursed me?”

It was all too well that Shaena seemingly did not understand. Rhaegar hoped she never retained a memory of it when she was better. Shaena cared, she always had, and even the words of a madman would cause her pain.

“We should leave her for now, to rest some more,” Pycelle suggested.

The King was only too pleased to be taken away from his daughter. He was not entirely certain her illness had passed and the news that she was barren had obliterated any trace of interest he might have otherwise possessed. What good was a woman with a broken womb? No man in his right mind would wed her. She would forever be a burden upon her family. That line of thinking Rhaegar was familiar with. Barren women had few choices before them. Well, he would see to it that Shaena had her pick of choices.

His mother placed a hand upon his arm. “Pray do not look so cross. The King is not himself; the news has shaken him.” Were he shaken to his death, Rhaegar though unhappily. His mother sat down next to Shaena and pressed a kiss to lively silver-blonde curls. “Do you like it, Shaena, the light of the sun? Shall I take you to the gardens soon?”

The chill had started to thaw and Rhaegar rather thought it would be summer soon. He looked at Shaena. It was impossible that the gods had saved her only to leave her a mindless creature in the process. She would be well, he told himself. She had to be. Perhaps once summer had come.

“You will not depart with the responsibility of caring for her, will you, my son?” his mother asked. “It shan’t be as we planned. But she is still yours to care for.”

What they had planned for. Rhaegar did not dare reveal the plans he and Shaena had made. It was best not to. He nodded to his mother’s request. “She is my sister, no matter what.”

“That is why I love you so, Rhaegar,” Rhaella spoke gently, still holding her daughter to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meh, a bit shaky for a beginning. This is more an experiment though.


	2. ii

The even stitches stood neatly in front of Lyanna’s eyes. She fingered the material, lightly pulling on it to make sure that her work would hold. She held it up and admired it in the light. A small satisfied smile graces her lips. It looked as good as new.

Lyarra looked up from her own mending to inspect her daughter’s work. “A fine hand you have,” her mother observed. “I cannot even see that it had been torn. I daresay you shan’t ever need to throw your dresses out before they are too faded to wear.”

Economy was a good ally, Lyanna judged silently. “Only because I was taught so well,” she replied, without an ounce of artfulness. Sewing was a necessary skill and as no work could possibly be shameful, Lyanna was more than happy to do her part.

“Flattery,” her mother clucked her tongue, though her eyes shone with mirth. “Don’t think it will get you out of patching up Brandon’s other shirt though.”

“It never even crossed my mind.” She wished Brandon would stop magically acquiring a new hole through his shirt every other day. “Mother, the truth is I wish to speak to father about a subject I daren’t broach with him with much ease.”

Then older woman sighed. “I think I know what you wish to speak to him of. Lyanna, your father had made up his mind. It would be wise to leave it be.”

Lyanna threw her mother a cross look. “Do I not deserve at least some say? If father is bent of Robert Baratheon the he may wed the man himself. If he shan’t then he had best remember that it is not he who will be sharing a home with the man but I.”

“Oh, child. What do you not like about the boy? He is a good friend to your brother, of high birth and fortune. He is a good match.” Lyarra seemed very sure of those words. And Lyanna supposed that taking into account only the words her mother had put forth it was a good match.

“Mother, I do not ask on groundless reasons that the match be reconsidered. Indeed I find no fault with Robert Baratheon’s lineage or the coffers of his house. I find fault with the man himself.” Her parent must have seen something in her eyes for she let her sewing fall to her lap.

“Has he done something to insult you during his visit?” There was actual worry on Lyarra’s face. It was the natural reaction of any mother, Lyanna supposed, and, as she did not wish to upset her mother unduly, Lyanna decided against giving too many details.

“Pray have a look at Moyra’s babe, when you get the chance,” Lyanna requested, knowing it would be clearly understood.

“Lyanna, you don’t think,” her mother gasped.

“I know,” she replied simply. “You need only look at the babe, mother, and you shall see for yourself.”

“I shall look into it,” was the promise received.

Lyanna would have said more, but just at that moment maester Walys entered the room. “My lady,” he addressed her mother, “it is finally over. The last of our ill had gone to the gods. We are safe.”

“Thanked be the god,” Lyarra said. “Maester Walys, is the midwife still in the keep?”

“Aye, my lady. Shall I send for her?” he questioned, a surprised look on his face. As he should be, considering her mother had been declared barren after being delivered of her youngest child. Benjen had apparently not been an easy child to birth.

“Do so, master,” the Lady of Winterfell agreed.

“Lady Lyanna,” Walys called to her. Lyanna looked up from her work. “You father wishes to have a word with you. The lord expects you in his solar as soon as possible.”

Which meant that she was to sit up and follow the good maester. Lyanna nodded towards her mother and away she went. When they were in the hallway, unable to help herself, she stopped him and leaning in whispering her question to the old man. “Is there any news from King’s Landing?”

Some would call her callous and unfeeling, but Lyanna was aware that only drastic measures could work in her favour. She held her breath and waited. Maester Walys nodded his head. “It seems that only Her Grace the Princess caught the damnable illness, as I have said before. Maester Pycelle has confirmed the heath of the others.”

“Praised be the gods,” Lyanna breathed out in relief. “And Her Grace?”

“She survived, according to the Grand Maester and she is likely to live a long life to her grief.” That was a strange answer. Lyanna’s gaze became questioning. The maester sighed. “The fever worked strangely upon her mind. It left her a shadow of her former self. Pycelle went as far as to say that she is barren besides.”

Undoubtedly the news had reached other ears as well. Lyanna thanked the man. “Why does my father wish to see me, maester? Do you think I may have a new horse?” Her old mare had broken a leg and had to be put out. Lyanna had been severely punished for riding her recklessly. It was a lesson she was not likely to forget soon.

“I know not, my lady. I was simply instructed to take you to him.” The old man was lying to her, Lyanna was certain. She knew very well, as well as any other person in the keep, that her father made no decision unless Maester Walys was somewhere close by to have suggested it. She let it be however. It was not the time to say anything against him. She would need his help.

“As you say, maester.” She followed him down the hall, counting the steps one by one. She tried to recall how many there had been the last time. She could not remember though. Lyanna took a deep breath as they reached the doors. Maester Walys opened one of them and entered. Lyanna was just one step behind.

“There you are, daughter. Come here and explain to me the meaning of this,” Rickard beckoned her over, holding up a slip of paper. “Mayhap you shall make me understand why it is you have taken it upon yourself to write to your aunt.”

“Aunt Branda invited me to attend Lord Whent’s tourney as her companion. Since mother shan’t take me and she claims I must be in the care of an older woman, I thought it natural to accept the sensible invitation of my aunt.” She tried to deliver the explanation in a voice that did not tremble. It would be so very well if her father accepted.

“Lyanna, we have discussed this. You will not attend. I know what you mean with this.” He gave her an angry look. “Why will you not listen?”

“Because I know I can do far better,” she could not help but answer. “Father, the Stark were kings in the North. If I must be bartered for position and wealth, then I insist it be to the highest possible position that I shall ascend. You say you wish for us to mingle with the great houses of the South. Which house is greater than the ruling house?”

“You forget I am negotiating with Lord Baratheon already,” the man pointed out.

“I am not asking that you stop, father. Pray allow me to try at least.” He looked ready to interrupt, but Lyanna begged to be heard. “Hear me out, father. Allow me to the tourney in the company of my aunt. If I fail to attract a suitor of a higher position, then, on my honour, I shall wed Robert Baratheon and be a good wife to him, without saying a word of complaint.”

“An interesting notion,” the maester broke it, as if it had just occurred to him. 

“Or do you think I am not good enough?” Lyanna asked without minding the other man. It was her father she wanted to charm. Maester Walys, she knew, had already realised her aim since she began speaking.

“What words are those? You have the blood of kings in your veins. Of course you are good enough,” Rickard Stark allowed.

“The girl is right, my lord. It hurts no one to allow her this. If she fails, she shall do as you say. If she does not, your grandson shall one day sit the throne.” What greater honour was there? Lyanna gazed at her father’s face, trying to guess his thoughts. He had to agree or she would run off on her own.

“But if you fail,” Rickard insisted, “you shall wed the Baratheon heir not in two years time, but in one.”

Well, at least he had agreed. Lyanna agreed with her most serious mien. Anyone was better than Robert as far as Lyanna was concerned. He was lucky she hadn’t knocked all his teeth out. Mayhap she should have told Ned about what his dearest friend had done. “I am grateful to you, father.” She gave him her most charming smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I like this Lyanna. Oh well.


	3. iii

Aunt Branda enveloped Lyanna in her arms, her long, thin frame entirely covering the younger woman. "You look the very image of my sister," Branda said, placing a kiss on each of her niece's cheeks. "But prettier, I daresay."

"And wiser," Lyanna added with an amused glean in her eyes.

"Modest too," her aunt played along. "Harry is waiting for us, my dear, so if you would."

"Not so fast, my dear aunt," a loud voice broke the amiable atmosphere. Lyanna glowered over her shoulder at her oldest brother. Since Brandon too was to participate, he had escorted Lyanna as far as Harrenhal and for that amount of time, he had driven her insane with his insinuations, which all rested on the fact that her possible betrothed would be there.

"Brandon Stark, my, but you have grown. What did they feed you?" the older woman laughed, opening her arms to him as well. Brandon allowed the small show of affection but pulled away as soon as possible. "Never say you have come to win a crown for your sister."

"Nay, not I. Perhaps Ned shall win the melee for you, though, Lyanna. Or even Robert." His teasing only warned him another glare. "My dearest aunt, I wish to make a formal request where my sister is concerned. Do not be deceived by the innocent mien and soft voice, she is as devilish as an wild horse and twice as likely to find trouble if she is left to her own devices."

"Brandon, do stop teasing her," Ned cut in, appearing from somewhere behind the oldest Stark present. "Look what you have done." Lyanna wondered if she had blushed. Likely her anger was visible enough. "Don't listen to him, aunt." Ned came forth and wrapped his arms around the woman. "My sister needs but a bit of polishing."

"What am I, a stone?" she spat at him, her hand automatically knocking into his shoulder.

"An ill-tempered gem," the middle brother answered, seemingly unconcerned.

It was common enough for them to tease her. Lyanna hadn't wondered, even in the beginning, at the treatment. She had, instead, resolved to give as good as she got. And most of the time she managed without great difficulty. Siblings were no fun without teasing. With that in mind, Lyanna glanced around for the youngest of the wolves, the pup, but he was nowhere to be found.

"Where is Benjen?" she questioned, directing the inquiry towards the one responsible for them all.

Startled, Brandon looked around, his eyes searching for their brother. "I could swear he was right behind me."

"Apparently he is not," Lyanna returned dryly. "Aunt, I think I should look for the little rascal. I know well enough the banner of House Rogers and I daresay I shall find my way with ease."

"But mayhap I could help with the search," Branda offered. She was a motherly sort, and as the gods had not seen fit to give her children of her own, she made do with her sister's.

"Nay, aunt. We shall find him well enough on our own," Brandon refused. "After, I shall bring Lyanna myself."

"Well, be sure to do so," the older woman nodded. "Harry and I will be waiting for you. And if it turns out that you do need help, just send for us."

She left them on their own, assured that her niece would be well cared for in the company of her brothers. And she would not be wrong. At times Lyanna wished they would not take such good care. All three of her siblings seeme4d to think it their gods given duty to make sure not even a blade of grass annoyed her.

"I will go to the stables," Lyanna announced without waiting for anything else. "Benjen might have wished to go riding."

"I will search the tents then," Ned offered.

"Very well, I shall go to the keep," the oldest brother grunted. "If any of you finds him, return to my tent. It is where the rest are to come."

With that understanding they broke apart, each of them taking their own direction. It would be superfluous and perhaps quite boring to put forth the entire history of how Brandon, having gone up to the keep, was arrested, struck by awe, upon seeing the image of fair Cersei Lannister and her companions. It would be of hardly any interest to note that he fell prey to the sweet smile of a Dornish Princess and it should not even be mentioned that a certain lady of the house was quite charmed by him in turn. Suffice to say that he did not find his brother. But to his great fortune, he found something else, an abundance of loveliness that one could not help but feel one might never tire of.

It would be likewise not beyond ordinary that as he was so diligently being searched for, Benjen Stark had taken refuge beneath a line of tall trees and slept quite undisturbed, the sweet summer day evoking in him a desire for such beneficial exercise. He was thus unaware of being looked for and would not have care much either way perhaps. He had, after all, come to the tourney at the insistence of his father, who for some reason thought it wise that he should attend, in preparation for becoming a squire. Or so Lord Stark had said.

By the tents, Ned Stark, putting quite as much effort into the search as his oldest brother, looked in all the possible places without much luck. Benjen Stark was not to be found. He decided against leaving Brandon's tent after he had reached it, telling himself that surely another one of his siblings had found their wayward brother and was bringing him there. He sat down on a low stool and waited patiently for Brandon or Lyanna to appear with Benjen in tow. Ned was quite certain he would hear them when it came the time to do so.

For her part, Lyanna retraced her steps back to the crowded stables of Lord Whent and prayed her brother was there. She did not wish to go gallivanting about in search of him as there were more important matters that required her attention. With that in mind, she picked up her pace. But just as she was about to enter through the doors, which had been left slightly ajar, she heard the sound of a scuffle coming from inside. She stopped, instinctively taking a step back. Angling herself into a better position, Lyanna lowered her head, trying to catch a glimpse of what went on inside.

The sight that greeted her produced within the she-wolf a swift wave of rage. A young man as lying on the ground, possibly just a boy, and three squires circled around him, each throwing a kick or punch, jeering at their victim. Knowing them to be too caught up in their vile game, Lyanna made her way inside quietly. She neared a small stand where practice swords had been left and picked one up. She grimaced at the weight, but would not give up.

Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth and bellowed out in the loudest possible voice she could achieve, "What is the meaning of this? That is my father's man you are abusing." At the same time, she picked up her skirts and ran, towards her, swinging the sword to the best of her abilities.

The squires, startled by the noise and even more so by her ferocity her of her attack, stepped away from the young man. One of them looked like he might tackle her, but Lyanna thrust her weapon forth. His companions grabbed him by the arms. "Let's go, before she has everyone coming here," the oldest looking one hissed.

"You wretched cravens," Lyanna called after them, kneeling at the side of the injured. "Are you badly hurt?" she asked, noting with some surprise that before her was no child, but a man. "Can you sit up, ser?"

"I am well, my lady," he hissed between clenched teeth. They had cut him. It was nothing water couldn't wash. A good night's rest would restore him as well. Lyanna helped him up, mindful of the way he held his side. She did not think he'd broken anything. Or he would have been howling in pain. "I worry more for the girl," he whispered.

"The girl?" Lyanna repeated. "What girl do you speak of, ser?" She had seen no one but the squires and him. But it was true that she had not been looking. Lyanna glanced over her shoulder, trying to locate the person he'd spoken of. "I do not think there is anyone here."

"She hid in the hay," the man imparted to her, pointing weakly at a lump of hay. "They scared her, I think. When I arrived they were talking to her. She looked scared."

Ah, so that had been why they decided to beat him. Lyanna led him to the nearest column of wood, letting him rest his weight against it. "I daresay she will react better to having me coax her out of her hiding spot."

Lyanna walked to where the hay had been stacked. It moved slightly at her approach. She advanced. The dried horse feed flew around as a form rose from it and hastily beat a retreat until her back was against the wall. The sight of the girl brought a gasp to Lyanna's lips. She had little doubt about her identity. The person standing before her was the ill Princess, the one that had not quite mended after her brush with death.

Shaena Targaryen cowered against the wall, her form shivering violently. Careful of her, Lyanna lowered herself to her knees and attempted to communicate. "Your Grace," she began, "do not be afeared. I mean you no ill will. I simply wish to aid you."

The other murmured something, a choked little sound which Lyanna could barely make out. It did not sound intelligible. She tried again. "Com, allow me to take you back to the keep. You shall feel better once in the presence of your family."

"Rhae-Rh-Rhaegar," the pitiful creature croaked. "Rh-Rhae-Rhaegar."

By the gods, the fever had left her an invalid, little better than a small child. Lyanna looked her over, from the top of the silver-gold ringlets to the bottom of what looked to be a wet hem. No better than a child then, she decided. Standing to her feet, Lyanna turned to the man. "Ser, may I borrow your cloak, I fear mine would not fit her." She was not extremely tall, but she was somewhat taller than Lyanna. The stranger, she reckoned, was taller than both of them. He accepted and drew it off of himself.

Lyanna took the weight in her arms and walked back to the Princess. "Look, Your Grace. Look what I have for you," she coaxed. Little children were susceptible to gifts. It was worth trying. "Is this not pretty? It should become you well, I think. Won't you let me wrap it around you?"

Crawling forth, hesitant and still looking rather troubled, the shy creature approached Lyanna slowly. The she-wolf did not move, for fear of startling her. Once the Princess was close enough, she gently placed the cloak around her shoulders, fastening it. Then she took her by the hands and both of them rose to their feet.

"I shall need to take her back to the keep, ser? Could you endure the journey?" she asked of the man who had yet to speak his name. He gave her a nod. "Very well then, come with us to the keep and then I shall see to your wounds. A smile crossed her lips. "You are, after all, my father's man."

He took the hint. "Howland Reed, my lady."

"Lyanna Stark," she replied simply, taking the Princess's hand and holding it fast with hers. "Now let us see to you, shall we, Your Grace?" A shy, child-like nod was her response.

Drawing the cowl over the light curls so as to better protect the Princess from prying eyes, they began walking, Lyanna and Shaena before the Howland. She reckoned they made an interesting enough sight without anyone else noting who Lyanna had on her arm. It was for the best.

It seemed that the absence of her companion had been noted. Lyanna, entering the keep, saw that servants were milling about. It was clear enough that they were searching for someone. Approaching sternly dressed Septa, she pulled the cowl off Shaena's head. The wrinkled face of the Septa gasped and took Shaena by the hands. "Your Grace, we have been searching for you." Her eyes turned to Lyanna. "Was it you who found her, my lady?"

"Aye, I saw her in the stables. She looked rather lost and I thought to bring her back." That earned her a nod from the old woman.

"Her Grace the Queen will wish to know who brought her daughter back," the Septa told her. She did not try removing the cloak, mayhap understanding its use.

"Lyanna Stark and Howland Reed, my good woman," she replied, nodding to Howland who had been standing behind her. "We must away now. My companion needs his wounds looked after, and I must be returning to my keeper." She curtsied to the Princess. "I bid you a fair day, Your Grace."

Shaena Targaryen held a hand out, as if to stop her. Her fingers were spread, reaching out for her. Lyanna took her hand and squeezed it gently. "I am certain we shall see one another soon, Your Grace. But now it is time to put Her Grace the Queen at ease. She must be out of her mind with worry."

"Indeed, she is," the Septa informed. "I shan't forget to mention you to the Queen, my lady, my lord."

That was quite enough for her. Lyanna gave a polite nod and then turned towards Howland Reed. "Let us be on out way," she said. He agreed with a slight movement of his head. Lyanna, though she knew it would have been polite to engage him in conversation, could not; her thoughts kept going back to the Princess. It made her slightly sick to think she had, even for one moment, been pleased by the opportunity. It was a daunting thought the one which flittered through her mind. She sighed softly.

Brandon, she noted, was waiting in front of the tent, a glare in his eyes that nearly melted her bones. She could already hear him. Nay, when she glanced at his face, she noted that he was preparing to speak. Instinctively she flinched. "Where have you been? Did you walk to Winterfell and back?"

"That I exactly what I did," she spat out at him. She took Howland by the arm. "Fine host you are. This is Howland Reed, our father's bannerman and he needs care for his wounds. Yet you would keep us out, standing like a boar before his den."

With a grumble, Brandon drew out of the way and Lyanna dragged Howland in, shooing Ned away from the stool he had been sitting on. Benjen, who had been seated near Ned, a sullen look upon his face. He had undoubtedly been dragged back in the interim and had had to endure one of Brandon's lectures.

"Who have you brought?" Ned questioned, looking their guest up and down, cataloguing his appearance.

"I am Howland Reed," her companion introduced himself.

"Ah, Reed," Brandon spoke, standing in the entrance. "And how did you happen in my sister's company."

"I found him in the stables," she snapped at Brandon. "Some squires thought to bring him injury."

The explanation was accepted without much complaint from her brothers. Lyanna, however, could see that they were not very pleased. Well, they would have to come to terms with it. She took a rag and dipped it in a bow of water that had been conveniently placed in Brandon's tent. Lyanna set about cleaning the cuts she could see. None thought to stop her. She saw to her work and continued to wash until she was satisfied that the blood had been washed off and the wounds were clean.

"That should do it," she said, a small amount of satisfaction swelling inside of her. "I shall leave him in your care, my dear brothers. And you had best do your duty by him, for if I do not see him at the feast, I shall know who to turn my wrath upon."

"Always charming, our sister," Benjen noted with a grin. Lyanna threw the rag at him. It smacked against his cheek with a wet slap. "Aye, that proves it."

"If you require further proof, I shall be only too well pleased to deliver it to you." Her warning had the desire effect. While Banjen kept his smile, he desisted in his teasing. "Which one of you shall escort me to aunt Branda?"

The events of the day had tired her out. She wished to at least catch a few hours of sleep. Who would have thought doing good deeds would be so tiring? Brandon pulled her by the hand, thus answering her question. Lyanna would have preferred Ned. But she supposed Brandon would have to do.

"Come, then," he said, dragging her after him. Lyanna struggled to keep up with the fast pace he set. He was doing it on purpose, to punish her for her wilfulness. She wished him well of it. Lyanna gritted her teeth against the complaints crawling up her throat. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

Brandon walked her across the sea of tents, towards the fluttering banner with none silver unicorns circling around a maze. The wind made it look as if they were dancing. Her aunt stepped out of the tent and took her from Brandon. "Oh, but look at you, my dear child. Searching for that brother of yours must have been exhausting."

"Among other matters," Lyanna muttered under her breath.


	4. iv

Shaena ran straight into his arms, hiding her face in his chest, weeping softly. Rhaegar reckoned she had been given quite the scolding to have her in such a state. He held her, rubbing her back soothingly. Her moods had turned strange. Rhaegar had hoped that time would help, but Shaena was as lost as ever, barely able to string two words together and quite unlike herself.

Pycelle had warned that she might never come back to herself. Rhaegar was starting to believe the man. Yet, for all that, it was an impossibility that he should give up on his sister. “There, there,” he said, “you got into quite the scrape.” She trembled. “Are you well?” Shaena looked up at that, lilac eyes shining.

The Queen entered, followed by one of the two Septas forever in her company. “And how say you that she introduced herself?” his mother was asking, no doubt wishing to know everything about her daughter’s safe arrival.

“Lyanna Stark, Your Grace, and with her was a Howland Reed.” His sister pulled away from him at the mention of those names. Rhaegar watched as she walked to their mother, taking her by the hand, tugging gently.

“Lyanna Stark,” the Queen repeated. Shaena tugged her hand once more. “What is it, child?” the mother addressed the daughter. “Do you wish for something?”

But Shaena rarely spoke, no matter her mother’s coaxing and if she did it was mere broken words that held no meaning. Yet her desire was understandable enough. She wanted to see Lyanna Stark. Rhaegar wanted to see Lyanna Stark as well. He wanted to know what sort of woman would be so kind to his sister, when most of the others had made a fine art of avoiding Shaena. Someone had put it about that her illness was not gone, and that whoever approached her would suffer the same fate. It was ludicrous, but the power of rumour worked very well.

Likely as not, their mother had understood as well. The Queen gave him a short nod. “The feast shall start soon. I do not wish to burden you, my son, but knowing your sister, her recent escapade should only be repeated if I left her in some other’s care.”

“I do not mind, mother.” Shaena was fairly jumping up and down. Out of all the things to have retained, her joy in the prospect of attending a feast was one of the stranger qualities that was both comforting and out of place.

His sister came back to his side, wrapping her arms around one of his. She leaned against him. “Not yet, Shaena,” he laughed. “There is some time before the feast starts.” She pouted but sat down.

“Shall you play for us this evening?” his mother questioned, sitting down on his other side. “Shaena would like it.” Shaena always liked it when he played, ever since he learned. “And I daresay all the maidens in the hall shall be weeping once you are done.”

“Far be it from me to desire such,” he chuckled.

The hours passed spent in the comfortable company of his mother and sister. Shaena put her head on his shoulder and listened to the quiet conversation between him and their mother. He wished, from the depths of his heart, that she had been well. He wished they could be talking to the lords together. It was difficult to plan every little detail on his own, when Shaena had been indispensable to him. The gods knew he could not ask Daeron to help. He was just a child.

Shaena, on the other hand, had always been more than interested in political matters. Ever since they were children. She would be the one crawling on their father’s lap and pretending to fall asleep there only so she could listen to the conversations around her. He had been the dreamer. Despite the responsibility placed on his shoulders, it was only later that he became interested in the fate of the realm. And it was Shaena to whom he spoke of it. In fact, it had been his sister that planted in his mind what he was about to embark upon.

They had spoken of it often and oftener as their father’s madness grew. Once upon a time, the king had been tolerable. Duskendale had changed that. Aerys Targaryen had, since infancy, if rumours merited any credit, a fiery temper, given to tantrums and always displeased with something or another. And he had been raised to think he was entitled to anything he wished for. It was no wonder then that he practiced so little restraint. And if in the beginning his charm had won his many an admirer, the enthusiasm soon waned. Aerys had not been made to be king anymore than Rhaegar himself. The crown had more or less fallen in his lap by some dark, humourless twist of fate, because the better men were all gone and he was the only choice left.

What a choice that had been. Rhaegar wished someone else, anyone else, had survived the tragedy that claimed most of his family. At least then life might have been a bit easier. Alas it was not to be so. He had been given an existence by the gods and it was his duty to see it through to the best of his abilities, whether he was thrilled by it or not.

“What are you thinking about with such a look upon your face?” Rhaella questioned, touching a hand to his cheek. “Can you not allow things to just be, my son, without contemplating every little thing?”

“Of course, mother.” He attempted a reassuring smile. His mother seemed pleased with it. Shaena stirred against him. He hadn’t even realised she had fallen asleep. “I believe it is time to go.”

“So it is,” the woman agreed, leaning over to coax her daughter into the waking world. “Come, Shaena, open your eyes. It is time we went down to the feast.”

That caught his sister’s attention.

* * *

Lyanna did not know whether she should weep or laugh. Robert’s grasp on her hand tightened and she was tempted to scowl. How to extricate herself from the situation without causing too much trouble? That was the question. And unfortunately her mind held no answer. If she pulled swiftly away she would attract attention. If she remained, Robert would grow even more assured in his impression that she cared for him even a little bit.

“I pray you, my lady, tell me of your father’s decision,” Robert pressed on, despite her earlier reluctance. “There should be no secrets between us.” Well, he certainly made no secret of his transgressions. Lyanna, on the other hand, would happily keep her secrets to herself.

“I have told you, I know not what my father’s decision is. He shall write to your lord father and then you shall know.” Oh, how surprised he would be at the refusal. Lyanna could barely hold back a smile of amusement. Well, at least she hoped it would turn out so anyway.

“You are cruel,” the gallant offered in reply, trying to pull her hand to his chest.

“I daresay my aunt is signalling me over,” Lyanna interrupted him. Her aunt had looked at her, but Branda had looked with a question upon her face rather than a summon. A question was good enough for Lyanna. “I must away, my lord.”

And she somehow managed to pry her hand out of his grip. Robert would have fain followed her, she perceived, but Lyanna quickened her pace and was in the presence of her aunt before Robert might decide what to do. She dearly wished he might understand that she had no desire for his presence anymore than she desired the plague. That would be the day, she chuckled to herself.

Once near enough to her aunt, the woman caught her by the arm and whispered to her, “Have you by any chance met Her Grace the Princess, niece?”

“Aye, I saw her at the stables, and, sure she had been lost, took her back to the keep.” Her eyes involuntarily searched the hall for Howland Reed. She found him at a table with her brothers. They did not notice her attention.

“Then you should know that you are being looked for,” her aunt informed her. “You were sleeping the first time the Queen sent for you and I hadn’t the heart to wake you.” What a loss, Lyanna thought with a small amount of alarm. “Fear not, child. She was not angered. Instead she requested that you might go to her during the feast.”

Why hadn’t anyone told her anything? Lyanna looked down at herself and grimaced. “You should have woken me.”

“I was assured that there would be no need.” The reply did not do much to put her at ease. Lyanna accepted it however with a small nod. “Mayhap you would like to go to her now.”

“I do not know.” Lyanna looked at the high table. The Queen was speaking to her eldest son. Dare she appear before them? She might have aided the Princess, but that did not guarantee very much save for an initial hearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To that person who messed up my bookmarks, the joke is not funny. :(


	5. v

She was speaking to Steffon Baratheon's oldest son. Shaena had spotted her first and she had startled pulling on his sleeve, fidgeting in her seat. She had nearly attracted their father's eye. Thankfully, however, the King had seen Lady Joanna Lannister and nothing short of a fire breaking out and engulfing them all. That aside, all was well.

"Joanna has brought her daughter as well," his mother commented softly, nodding towards Cersei Lannister. "But I see their son is absent."

Jaime Lannister, Cersei's twin, had indeed not made his way to Harrenhal. It was a peculiar enough matter that the daughter should be brought and not the son, yet the answer was clear enough. Oberyn Martell had come. Though it had taken Joanna many a year and much persuading, she had at a long last convinced her husband to give Cersei in marriage to the Dornish House of Martell.

But his attention slipped away from the golden lionesses to the she-wolf extricating herself from Robert Baratheon and making her way to her aunt, if Rhaegar remembered correctly, When his mother had first demanded that Lyanna Stark be brought before them, the reply had been that she slept, exhausted from her earlier activities.

It had taken not very much effort to learn what they had been. Rhaegar's interest in Lyanna only grew. He had assumed she would be a tall, imposing creature, but the young woman he was looking at resembled more delicate glasswork than granite. He watched the women converse, the aunt nodding towards them.

"Mother, leave Lady Joanna and her daughter. Best you call Lyanna Stark to us before Shaena decides to get her herself." His sister was already halfway up, a certain mischievous glint playing in her eyes. She almost resembled the woman she'd been before her illness.

"Shaena will do no such thing," the Queen spoke. She beckoned over a servant. "Have Lady Lyanna Stark escorted to us. We wish to have words with her." Then, softly, she turned towards her husband. "Your Grace, permit Lady Stark to sit with us awhile."

"She may do as she wishes," the King growled, no doubt annoyed that his viewing of Joanna Lannister had been interrupted. The short manner of his response was met with cool politeness by his wife. Rhaegar fought to hide his scowl. "Invite the whole keep if that is your will."

Rhaella nodded her head in curt acknowledgement. However, there was little time for her to offer any answer to that as the servant had brought Lyanna Stark and the young woman, more curtsied before them, a low murmur accompanying her movement. The King examined her with disinterest, his mother watched her attentively, Rhaegar as well. Shaena bolted out of her seat and nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste to reach Lyanna. Thankfully she was saved from making a scene, by the lady taking a step up the stairs and balancing her.

"Your Grace, you must pat attention. The floors are slippery," the she-wolf said.

The Queen, seeing her daughter thus treated, levelled a smile at Lyanna and dared speak to her. "So you are the Lady Stark who has brought my daughter back to me? You must allow me to thank you, child. I was nigh near losing my mind."

"How exactly did you come upon my sister?" Rhaegar could not help but ask. The young noblewoman turned her gaze upon him. He found himself short of breath for one moment, but just as quick as the reaction hit him, it faded, restoring the air to his lungs.

"I was searching for my younger brother, Your Grace, and thought to find him in the stables. Only there it was a different sight that greeted me. I witnessed a number of three squires assaulting one my father's bannermen and attempted a rescue." She stopped and flushes lightly at that, worry worming its way upon her face. Rhaegar could not fathom why. "It was he whom I had saved, Howland Reed by name, that spoke of the Princess hiding in the hay. Therefore, Your Grace," she said, turning her face to the Queen, "he deserves as much gratitude as I."

His mother, having listened with attention to the words of her guest, looked over Lyanna's head about the room. "And where is this Howland Reed, Lady Stark, so I may express my gratitude to him as well."

"He should be sitting at my brother's table, Your Grace," she offered.

"But you do not sit at your brother's table." Rhaegar noted, a question somewhere in there.

"Nay, You Grace, I am currently in the care of Branda Rogers, my aunt." The explanation was delivered with something akin to suspicion. Rhaegar chanced a look at Lyanna Stark's face and was quite taken aback at what he saw. Her words conveyed one thing, her eyes quite another.

"Lady Stark, I know 'tis not much by way of gratitude, but I should be well pleased if you would dine with us, you and Howland Reed."

"I would be honoured, Your Grace," Lyanna said. It was more than she had hoped for and quite encouraging. Lyanna decided that she would try to engage the oldest Prince's interest. He looked the sort that was kind and dependable, unlike the King, who, truth be told, rather frightened her. She was invited to take the seat available next to Rhaegar.

Lyanna, who should have at least attempted to make conversation, found herself rather tongue-tied and rather uncertain of herself. It was not shyness. While at times she could be rather shy, it was not the case at present. She wished to speak, she truly did, but the words would not come. It was peculiar.

She was saved, however, when Shaena Targaryen, leaning over her brother held a hand out to Lyanna. She looked between the siblings and at Rhaegar's nod, caught the other's hand. "Shaena seems to like you very well indeed, Lady Stark."

"I am pleased to be so well liked," she returned without thinking. It was quite easy for her to slip in her natural speech mode. But the Prince did not seem bothered. In fact he looked rather amused. "I daresay she likes you even more than Howland reed here," he commented upon the other's arrival.

Poor Howland flushed and stared at her without quite knowing how he fit in their discussion. Lyanna could not help showing her amusement. "Your Grace, I pray you, be kind to my friend, for he was ever so kind to Her Grace. Is that not so, Your Grace?" That she asked of Shaena. Innocent eyes stared at her.

Rhaegar then suggested that they exchange seats, so Shaena might sit next to Lyanna without half her body bearing down on him and he could sit by Howland Reed and find out from him what exactly had gone on in those stabled.

For her part, Lyanna was only too glad to do so. It was easier being in his presence when he did not concentrate his whole attention upon her. It was not an issue of his handsomeness, but of her own attraction to him. After all, Robert was handsome as well, and he had never made her heart beat quite like that. Lyanna suspected she would need a bit of time to get used to him. That was all. Thus convincing herself, she turned her attention upon the Princess and leaned in towards her, so as to better make herself heard.

"I hope Your Grace is in better spirits now, than when I have found you," she spoke gently, trying to coax out a reply of the other. She knew that Shaena could produce words. But she knew not how well she could use them. "Are you better, Your Grace?"

"B-be-better," the Princess stuttered out the word.

"She hasn't been quite the same after her illness, Lady Stark," the Queen said from Shaena's other side. "I fear that while she does repeat some words, she does not truly understand."

"Apologies, Your Grace," Lyanna startled. Was it truly possible that she did not understand? Yet in the stables she had spoken her older brother's name though Lyanna had made no mention of his. "Pray forgive the impertinence, Your Grace, but is it a certain matter?"

"The Grand Maester himself has assured us," the Queen sighed. "My poor Shaena; she used to be a very bright girl and I had such hopes for her." The tragedy of a mother, Lyanna could not help but think, to have her child so close yet so very far away at the same time. "Do you have any sisters, Lady Stark?"

"Nay, Your Grace, I have but brothers." A pity that. Sometimes, she did long for one. "They are adequate companions, but I fear we grow apart as we grow up."

"That I can understand," the Queen laughed. "I had no sisters myself. Nor could I give Shaena any. Perhaps that is what I regret the most. What is your age, Lady Lyanna?"

"I am four-and-ten, Your Grace," she answered, looking down at her lap.

"The same age as my daughter," the Queen mussed. Lyanna could swear she heard the cogs beginning to turn.


	6. vi

"You should enter the lists," Lyanna offered, trying to pry Brandon's grip on her arm loose. "Those squires deserve to be chastised for their misdeeds."

Objectively, the Prince could not act and punish them himself, as that would expose his sister's situation, bringing Shaena to the forefront of discussion among the gossipmongers and the poor child did not deserve that. If he did not give a reason, his own standing would be affected. Rhaegar Targaryen had the adoration of the masses, as he had carefully cultivated it, but that did not make him immune to their wrath. After all, all it took was one mistake to destroy that hard earned esteem.

Lyanna understood the predicament. Truly she did. An unpopular prince would only be targeted by rumours, and rumours somehow always made their way to the King's ears. What was more, succession had been assured by the Queen with four other sons besides the oldest. If the King got it into his head to rid himself of his eldest son, then he had other heirs to make matters easier.

"I fear I would only further shame myself, my lady," Howland answered, in a quiet, strained voice. "My skills as a rider are abysmal."

"Look at you," Brandon snapped at her, "always concerning yourself with matters that ought not to make an object of attention. Leave him be. He knows best what it is that he wants to do." Her brother did not suffer her obstinacy gracefully and Lyanna had never truly been all that enchanted with his forcefulness either.

"Brandon Stark, mind your tongue," she replied, pushing against him with all her force. He barely even budged.

"You mind yours," was his answer. Of course, he would never actually shove back against her. Even so, Lyanna could clearly detect the anger in his voice. "Do you think that just because the King and Queen sat you at their table you now have the right to command to others?"

"I think," Lyanna began, eyes narrowing, "that as your sister, as a member of your family and House, that I should be allowed to speak my mind." He was insufferable at times.

"Of course you are allowed to," Ned broke in. "Brandon, she was just trying to encourage him. There is nothing wrong with that."

"Aye, it'd be nice if someone taught those rascals some manners," Benjen chimed in. "But if Reed says he won't, then you ought to listen to him, Lya."

Well, since he truly did not wish to, there was no point in her insisting. Lyanna nodded her head and sighed softly. "I think I have had enough of you for one day. Brandon, be so good as to take me to my tent."

She bade her brothers and Howland Reed a good night and then, with Brandon in tow, made her way to the tent that had been prepared for her. Brandon pushed the flap aside for her. "You had best put all notions of mischief out of your mind," he warned before she could go in. "Be good."

Once inside the tent, Lyanna reached for the small stool upon which she'd placed a few candles, gripping one in her hand. Brandon would still be waiting outside, she knew, for he was ever aware of her routine. She stepped out again and, sure enough, there he was.

"Be on with it," her brother tapped his foot impatiently as he spoke. "I haven't all night."

Scowling at him, Lyanna reached one of the torches and lit her candle. "There, you can be off now." And without another word she turned around and re-entered the tent with as little noise as possible.

Once she heard footsteps, Lyanna relaxed. The candle was placed safely away and she took off her cloak, folding it neatly before putting it away. Next it was the heavy dress which she discarded of, leaving her in a light shift. How warm the weather had turned, even she could not quite believe it. Summer had truly come. In Winterfell the snows would be melting.

Sitting down upon her furs, Lyanna set about braiding her hair. It would only trouble her if she left it unbound. Methodically, she split it into three parts, deft fingers working tirelessly. It had been most fortunate that she had been invited to dine with the Queen and that Rhaegar Targaryen had taken notice of her. If she managed to keep his attention upon her, then she might have a chance of success.

But what to do? Normally, it was attraction and affection that led to marriage, or the intervention of parents. But Rhaegar had been promised to his sister, and while she was no longer an option, it did not mean Lyanna need not worry. There were ladies enough in the realm to vie for the position she had in mind. As for attraction and affection, they simply did not know one another well enough yet.

That left her with a third, less heart-warming option. A mercantile exchange. It was less savoury, of course, but no less useful. There had to something the Prince wanted, something that she could aid him with that would induce him to wed her. She had to find out what though, and she would need to move fast, else she risked losing the chance.

Perhaps if she made it a point to seek his company she might find something useful. But that would be bold. And quite dangerous with Robert there. The Baratheon heir was a thorn she could not easily be rid of as easily as she would liked to. If only he would drink himself into a long sleep.

It wouldn't do though. Lyanna shook her head and slid beneath the covers. She had best get a few hours of rest. Not all decisions had to be made in one night, after all. The tourney had yet to begin anyway. With that in mind, Lyanna closed her eyes and forced her mind into quietness, seeking the comforting embrace of sleep, so as to leave her burdens behind for some time.

For how long she slumbered Lyanna did not know. All that she knew was that she woke up with a start and the beginning of a yelp upon her lips. A hand, however, pressed tightly against her mouth, muffled the sound. Terror made its presence apparent, stunning her.

"Lya, it's alright. Don't be frightened," her brother's familiar voice made its way to her ears. "I'll let go now."

True to his word, he released her. To that kindness, Lyanna replied by delivering a stinging slap to his shoulder. "Fiend! What manner of mischief is this? I nearly died." To say she was unhappy with his behaviour was an understatement. Lyanna glared at Ned through the darkness. "What in the name of the gods are you doing here?"

"I need your aid," her middle brother disclosed. He pulled her up, allowing her upper body to rest against his. "I want to seek justice for Howland Reed." A peculiar thing. Lyanna did not interrupt however. "It is a pity that he doesn't have the skill, but I do. Yet father will now allow me to join and Brandon would not go against father's word."

"And what exactly must I help you with?" She could hardly go against father's word either.

"Let me use your tent to don my armour." If she thought about it, his plan was not bad at all. Who would ever think to search the tent of a lady id somehow him entering the lists was an issue? "Didn't you want to help this Howland Reed?"

"I still do. But that does not explain your position. Why would you aid him?" Naturally, she knew her brother to be kind and righteous. Ned could hardly witness what he though an unlawful act without intervening.

"He was praying to the old gods." And that seemed reason enough for him. Lyanna nodded her head in understanding. "So, may I have the use of your tent?"

"You may" Lyanna answered without hesitation. She was the one who had brought Howland Reed in their midst, therefore part of responsibility fell to her concerning whatever dealings followed.

Her consent given, Lyanna watched as her brother from his position on the ground and went outside. She heard some movement and what sounded like Benjen's voice. Afterwards, Ned came back in, carrying a few mismatching armour pieces.

"I've emptied the largest trunk," Lyanna offered. "You may store the armour in there." Or at least what could be placed in there. Rising to her feet, Lyanna went to the entrance of the tent and pushed the flap out of the way. "Give me those," she told her brother, who was struggling with his load, and no wonder, for they were heavy.

In the end, they split what was left between the three of them and managed to get everything in without being caught. Ned promised he would return later and Benjen assured her that he would aid Ned. "You mustn't be here when I return. The less you know, the better." Upon that they were all in agreement.


	7. vii

Melara entered the bedchamber quietly. Her full skirts swished softly, the noise of it almost loud in the stillness. Cersei was sitting upon the bed, combing her golden ringlets with even strokes. Shutting the door, Melara inched closer to her, barely holding back her smile. A small snort left the lioness. “Must you be so filled with joy this early in the morning?” asked the daughter of Tywin Lannister, lips pouting in displeasure.

“’Tis no fault of mine, Cersei, that your Prince did not dance with you,” Melara laughed. Not only had Oberyn Martell not danced with her, he’d not even acknowledged her properly. Knowing all about the matter, the older of the two sat down as well. “He is acting foolishly. If you find it so abhorrent, though, why not ask your mother to break the betrothal?”

“He will not have the satisfaction,” Cersei murmured after a moment of silent contemplation. “Have I asked for too much, Melara? I simply wanted to see the man I shall one day wed.”

“Nay, not too much. Mayhap it was just the wrong person you’ve asked. I still do not understand what you see in him.” She shrugged, a tendril of black hair soiling over her shoulder as she leaned forwards. “Robert Baratheon is twice as handsome and less likely to act as the Dornish Prince.”

Cersei Lannister wrinkled her nose. “Did you not see how he followed the Stark maiden around? Besides, Baratheon-Lannister marriages do not end well. Or do you not remember poor Tya’s tale?”

Tya Lannister had been the last to wed a Baratheon and her death had come is rather suspect circumstances after she had failed to produce a male child for her husband. Or any child for that matter. She’d given birth the babe had died fairly quick. No one had ever accused the husband, of course. But the fact that he took up with his mistress ours after his wife’s death, had been, at the very least, worth some consideration. And since then, no Lannister maiden had been offered to a Baratheon. And the Baratheons in turn never sought alliances with the Lannisters. It was a comfortable arrangement for both.

“That aside,” Cersei continued, “Robert Baratheon merits no attention from me for the simple fact that I already know who my future husband is. It is in poor taste to forget myself so.”

“I see. Very well then.” Melara the comb from Cersei’s hand. “Mayhap it would be wise then to turn our attention upon other matters. You shan’t guess who I have seen sneaking about on my walk.”

“Of course I shan’t. You’ll be telling me,” Cersei pointed out, snatching the comb back. “Whoever they are, they must be about as sane as you to be up and about at this ungodly hour.”

Tsking softly, Melara feigned displeasure at such treatment. “I will tell you nothing if you act thus.” One baleful look later though, she disclosed the identity of the person. “’Twas none other than Lady Stark’s middle brother. That one who looks rather like he is carrying the weight of the world.”

“Eddard, I believe,” Cersei supplied. He was a nice enough lad, a bit older than her. She’d made his acquaintance at the feast as he’d been among those who had danced with her. He must have been visiting some tent, as men usually did. “What of it?”

“He was carrying with him bits or armour,” Melara whispered, suddenly serious. “Even if he wanted to surprise his brother, is it not a bit early?”

It could be that Brandon Stark was an early riser. Cersei shrugged. Melara was wont to see shadows where there were none. Once she’d convinced her that the cook was putting strange ingredients in their food and when Cersei had demanded to be shown, it turned out that all it was, was ground Dornish peppers. Needless to say, her lord father hadn’t exactly thanked her for the intervention.

“Last you said something similar I ended up disallowed from leaving my room for a fortnight. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. Is that not so?” At her friend’s apologetic smile, Cersei simply nodded her head. “It does not matter what Eddard Stark does those bits of armour.”

“I still say ‘tis suspect.” A warning glance was shot her way. “But if you truly do not wish to hear of it, then let us speak of other matters. Such as, mayhap, the reason for which that poor Princess of ours is now in the company of not one, but two Kingsguards.”

“I’ve heard it was some incident at the stables. Father said something of it to mother, but I wasn’t allowed to stay and listen.” And that was not the worst of it. Cersei truly did think them exaggerated in their attempt to keep her and Jaime away from politics. She was not a child. “It seems I am still a girl playing with flowers in their eyes.”

Melara was a luckier sort. e was both older than Cersei and freer. In fact, the only restriction pushed her way was that she mightn’t see her betrothed unless another person was with them.

“You jest. They shall wed you and send you off soon and then you will miss their care.” Wise words from a maiden. They both burst into giggles. “I do mean it, Cersei,” Melara continued nonetheless. “Mayhap it is only so they mayn’t burden you with such problems as those they know of. I find it commendable.”

“And to me ‘tis astounding and annoying at the same time. If I were Jaime I might have at last managed to convince father to tell me.” But she was not Jaime.

“If you were Jaime, I would still be at the Rock. Enough of that. You are at a tourney. A handsome knight might crown you his Queen of Love and Beauty. Is that not enough?” By way of cheering her up, it did work.

“Aye, ‘tis good enough.”

 

* * *

 

 

Robert let go of her hand, his words still ringing in her ears. Lyanna tried, with all her might, not to show her relative annoyance at his presence. She hoped it worked. Not that Robert had ever needed encouragement.

“You truly do look splendid this morning, my lady,” he complimented, eyes lingering on her longer than was necessarily proper.

Hiding her hand away, the she-wolf wondered if it was awfully childish of her that she wanted to wipe his touch away. Her protest was to Robert’s morality, and by extent his touch. “My lord is too kind,” she replied in an even tone. Her aunt was nearby in any event. “Shall you be riding the joust?”

“Nay, my lady. My skills are not that grand, I fear. ‘Tis the melee for me.” He gave her a handsome smile. Despite herself, Lyanna was charmed by the appearance. She could but smile back. “Mayhap my lady would be so kind as to give me her favour.”

“Apologies,” Lyanna replied after a moment’s hesitation. She did not want to give him her favour. Yet that did not embarrass him either. “I have already offered it to my brother.” That would do well. None could fault such a decision. Not even Robert himself.

He looked crestfallen at the news, but did not insist. Such behaviour mellowed Lyanna’s disposition even further. “But if it please my lord, I shall pray the gods that you win.” And that was all she was willing to do, truly. Mayhap ‘twas for the best to act thus.

Any further foray into awkward territory was stopped by the arrival of her youngest brother. Benjen looked between her and Robert, a question in his eyes. Lyanna nodded her head nearly imperceptibly. While it was Benjen’s opinion that Robert Baratheon was a capital fellow in his own way, he also respected his sister enough to keep into mind her own opinions. Thus, he was not averse to helping her out from time to time.

“There you are, sister,” he spoke loudly. “Brandon is in high dudgeon, murmuring about someone having taken one of his gauntlets.” There was a cry for help in there as well. Lyanna arched an eyebrow. “My lord, perhaps in light of what you’ve heard, you might spare my sister for now.”

“I daresay they would be lost without me,” Lyanna tittered lightly for effect. “Pray do not tale to heart my departure, hasty as it is. I wish you good fortune on the field.” She gave a shallow curtsey and left before his answer could reach her. He would undoubtedly think of it as her need to reach her brother sooner.

Once they were a safe distance away, Lyanna could not help but ask, “Is he truly in a foul mood?”

“I would not lie,” Benjen answered, laughter in his voice. “One of his gauntlets is truly missing. Ned thought that mayhap we had mistakenly placed it among the other pieces.”

“Well then, we can but look in the trunk,” Lyanna offered.

And so they did.

 

“I told you, did I not?” a voice interrupted their clandestine attempts to return Brandon’s gauntlet just as they were exiting her tent. Lyanna froze, staring at Cersei Lannister and an unknown lady, who she could only conclude was a companion to the one she knew.

Light blue eyes watched her attentively, while the green pair rolled in what seemed to be slight exasperation. “Very well, I admit it is strange. But mayhap Lady Stark had a truly good reason for sneaking around with pieces of armour.”

There were no good reasons. Her face must have shown it. Cersei looked at her companion, then at the two Starks. “Or it could be that such a reason does not exist, in which case, my lady, you have made me curious.”

“The matter is for us to know, Benjen replied somewhat snappishly at that, thinking to drive the two away.

He was rewarded with a glare for his efforts. “I did not speak to you, child.” She must have been channelling her father. Lyanna pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “Lady Stark.”

“I suppose there is little reason to hide this,” she managed to speak. “Take this to Brandon,” Lyanna said, handing the gauntlet to Benjen. “I shall keep company with Lady Lannister and,” she trailed off.

“Melara Hetherspoon,” the dark haired young woman offered.

Benjen was on his way without needing much convincing. That left Lyanna with the two ladies and a story to say. “Before I begin, I must ask that this tale goes not further than the three of us. ‘Tis important that is remains so.”

One beamed at her triumphantly and the other nodded solemnly. Taking that as proof enough, Lyanna, making her way between them, began to walk back towards the stands. They were not very far off, but enough to make the story known.

Cersei and Melara listened with great interest, properly impressed with Lyanna’s courage and equally disgusted with those squires. It was heartening to have their support in her scheme, for Lyanna knew she had that at least.

“Your brother must be a very kind and righteous sort,” Cersei commented after finding out about Ned’s involvement. “My own is such a man too.”

“Jaime truly is,” Melara sighed. “You are a curious creature. But this place is dreadfully boring. Therefore, a bit of excitement would do us all a world of good. I say we aid her, Cersei.”

“And I agree,” came the answer. “This knight of yours, point him out to me when he makes his way to the joust and we shall have all people properly confused.”

“What mean you?” Lyanna questioned, interest rising.

“Simply that every good knight deserves the favour of a beautiful lady,” Cersei offered. She pushed a thick curl of golden hair behind her ear. “And none shall know his allegiance that way. Who know, perhaps he might even win.”

Lyanna was doubtful of that. Still, she nodded her head. Her brother might not have entered to win the joust, and mayhap he would be unhorsed before such plans could even be made, yet the excitement of those two Southron maidens proved too much for her to deny them their belief.

 

* * *

 

 

Through the visor, Ned could see Lyanna sitting next to Brandon. She had adopted a properly curious mien and with a subtle gesture of her hand urged him to look in another direction. Having caught that, Ned pressed his heels in the flanks of hi horse Benjen had found for him Yet as he did so, something else caught his eye.

The golden haired Cersei, whom he had danced with at the opening feast, was beckoning her over to what looked to be her mother’s horror and chastisement. Unable to refuse, Ned made his way towards her, holding his weapon in one hand. The stands were tall and the lady had to lean over in order to wrap her favour around the jousting lance.

“I have heard that you are a man of honour good ser knight,” she spoke, her voice sweet and quiet, “and I truly hope this brings you lock.” A smile painted her lips. “May the gods, old and new, have you in their care.”

He gave a nod of his head. Again, she smiled. “You mustn’t keep quiet. Use your loudest voice.” And with that piece of advice she retreated back to her seat. Lyanna must have spoken to her, otherwise she would not act with such familiarity towards him.

Knowing that he could not speak to her unless she approached him, Ned drove his horse away. His eyes made to find Lady Ashara Dayne. She sat next to the Dornish Princess, curiosity playing upon her features.

 

* * *

 

He had cited the need to restore Howland Reed’s honour for his reason and that was all Rhaegar needed to know in order to be aware that whoever the mystery knight was, he was not unknown to Lyanna Stark, despite what her features might have said. And when Cersei Lannister offered her favour, he became sure that, unless he too offered some sort of protection, all their efforts would be in vain. Not because they were not noble, daring and to be commended, but because the King did not look particularly thrilled.

“This is a plot,” his father said, light violet eyes burning into his. He had his suspicions. Rhaegar shook his head. “They want to kill me. I know it.”

“Your Grace, that is not true. The people love their king,” his mother had ventured, almost shy in manner. “The knight seems to be a honourable sort, to be defending others.”

Silently thanking her for the intervention, Rhaegar hurried to strengthen the impression of her word with his own, “Your Grace would have undoubtedly known of whatever plot was being put together if ever there was one. Lord Varys would not have kept us in the dark about such matters.” The Spider. Rhaegar fought the urge to grimace.

Thankfully, they did manage to calm the King down and the joust could be proceeded with without further interruption. All that Rhaegar needed to figure out was who the knight was, so he might warn him away before an even more dangerous situation could be born.


	8. viii

Lady Joanna grabbed her daughter’s arm, squeezing the limb. “Cersei Lannister, what in the name of the gods do you think you are doing?”

Cersei batted her eyelashes innocently. “I was giving the brave knight my favour, mother. I thought it obvious enough.”

Knowing very well her daughter was not the least bit hard of head, Joanna rapped her on the leg in chastisement. “What nonsense!” she whisper yelled, a feat that even Cersei was surprised with. Never again would she think her mother incapable of miracles. “And before your betrothed too. Have you taken it into your head to embarrasses us all?”

Only Oberyn if she could help matters. “Of course not,” came her answer nonetheless. Smoothing out her skirts, Cersei commanded herself not to glance in the direction of the Dornish Prince. “’Tis but a favour given at a tourney. What harm can it do?” She had made up her mind, that since he would not be courteous to her, she owed him nothing of her own politeness.

“Have a care, daughter,” her mother warned, pulling away as the match began. Cersei bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She felt Melara’s elbow touch her ribs and looked towards her companion. They shared a silent giggle. Leaning in, Melara whispered softly, “How well he sits that horse. I daresay you shan’t be sorry for giving him your favour.”

Blushing scarlet at being teased so, Cersei pushed against her friend’s shoulder. “You harpy, be quiet.” She had done it for herself, of course. And Ned Stark was truly not the very worst champion she might have chosen. Carefully, she looked over, as the herald announced the opponent, to where Lyanna Stark looked mildly ill.

It struck Cersei that the lady in question was not as familiar with the art of acting as she might have let on. “Look at her, she’ll fall over soon as not.”

Melara shrugged. “She has two of her brothers there. They would catch her. Which is unfortunate, given that Ethan Arryn is only two seats away.”

Rolling her eyes, Cersei tried not to mind the fact that Melara was so obvious in her appreciation of men that were not Jaime. Despite her roaming eyes, Cersei did know that her friend would never stray. Or she’d be thrown out on her ear.

“He had a tendency towards stoutness,” the blonde murmured in the end.

Ethan Arryn was watching the knights. As should she. Cersei looked at the opponents galloping towards each other. Silently, she begged the gods to be king and allow Lyanna’s brother to win. After all, it would be a pity for such a masterful plan to come to nothing.

The Seven must have been in a peculiarly pleasant mood, for indeed, Ned’s competitor was throw from his saddle. The bout of luck continued against the other two offenders, much to Cersei’s delight. When she looked towards Lyanna, just to check on the poor creature, she could see the lady had visibly relaxed. At least she didn’t look like she might cast her account upon some poor unsuspecting spectator.

The excitement, however was far from over. The mystery knight, having won the day, bowed to the crowd from atop his horse. He rode to the stands and, instinctively, Cersei held her hand out. In a swoon-worthy moment of chivalry he bowed over the proffered hand and whispered, only for her ears, “Your graciousness touched me, my lady. If there is ever anything I may do for you,” he trailed off, straightening.

With one last bow, towards the King and Queen, he moved away. No doubt he would disappear soon. How shockingly delightful. Cersei placed a hand on her own galloping heart. The bothersome organ produced her some discomfort.

“Dear me, I think you are the envy of all unmarried ladies,” Melara chuckled lightly. “I know I am green with it in any case.”

Grinning towards her friend, Cersei tipped her head slightly back in a proud fashion. She smiled in triumph, for all and sundry to see. It was not everyday that she was given such satisfaction. Having gained courage, she looked toward the prince promised to her. Oberyn Martell cast her a suspicious stare. Cersei replied with an impudent smile. Let him think what he would.

It was time to leave, as it were, else who knew what they might get caught in. Besides, the few hours before the feast to follow would need to be put to proper use. “Melara, look there,” she suddenly said, noticing that Robert Baratheon had somehow made his way to where Brandon Stark sat. They spoke quietly together and poor Lady Lyanna was rather pale once more.

“There is no sense in quitting halfway trough,” her friend began, standing to her feet. “My lady,” Melara turned towards Joanna Lannister, “we have seen our dear friend Lyanna Stark just opposite us. Might we be excused?”

Her mother was suspicious, but since Melara would be with her, Cersei couldn’t see that she would object. “Certainly you may, but not for long. I am certain Lady Lyanna has her own preparations to make.” Her theory confirmed, Cersei nearly leaped out of her chair.

The two made their way to Lyanna and once she observed them, Cersei was very much aware that gratitude painted the Northerner’s face. She was certain she should be grateful too if anyone would save her from the likes of Robert. The man had a handsome face, but he was as interesting as a pile of washing.

“I’ll distract the oaf,” Melara offered cheerfully for only Lyanna and Cersei to hear. And she was as good as her word, managing to distract the one inconvenient person, engaging the men in a commentary about the events that had passed in front of their eyes.

“Apparently the King was not pleased with the appearance of the knight,” Lyanna began explaining, without Cersei having to prompt her. How utterly convenient. “Unfortunately it did not take long for it to spread about. Robert came looking for Ned, so they could hunt the knight down together. I have to warn him”

“And I have just the way.” Cersei touched her shoulder gently. Lyanna gave her a long look but nodded her head. Affecting what looked to be a worried mien, Cersei spoke quite loudly. “You should have said something, Lady Lyanna. I reckon ‘tis the heat that had made you ill.”

“Are you unwell,” Benjen questioned. Apparently, he too had understood what was going on.

“Aye, I am feeling somewhat faint,” Lyanna allowed, trying her best to accomplish a fatigued, weak voice. She must have done something right because it was swiftly agreed upon that Benjen was to take her to Aunt Branda. Lyanna gave Cersei a grateful look, but the blonde was already making her own excuses.

“You must find Ned and tell him to get rid of the armour,” Lyanna whispered furiously to her brother once they were a safe distance away. “The King’s men shall be looking for him, I’ve no doubt and this cannot end well. This is a muddle.”

“It could have been worse,” her brother tried to cheer her up, “father might have come along.” They shared a horrified look at the notion. “I hope you don’t expect to be getting away from Robert like this ever time though. We cannot have it put about that Lyanna Stark is of a sickly constitution.”

“Hopefully I won’t need to.” She could hope, after all. The Prince might take a bigger interest in her. Or mayhap the Queen would be of aid. Or even Shaena. It occurred to Lyanna that such a move would protect Ned as well, and her family. Something had to be done, that much was clear. If only she could figure out what.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Gods be good, Your Grace, what are you doing here?” Lyanna asked, watching as Shaena Targaryen stood up with a smile upon her face. Given that Brandon had decided to hurry after them, Lyanna had been obliged to enter her tent, while Benjen was left alone in the task of finding Ned.

It was a bout of good fortune that Brandon had not decided to follow her in. The gods only knew what his reaction would have been. The Princess, undeterred, hurried towards Lyanna and threw her arms around her. It was at that point that worry started gnawing at Lyanna.

Had the Princess run away once more? Were there people out there looking for her? Of course there would be. And how in the name of the gods was it possible to lose her with an army of septas looking after the girl?

“You are a true mischief maker, aren’t you?” the she-wolf questioned. “I daresay everyone had forgotten about the knight at this point and they search for you. Come, Your Grace, I shall take you back, aye?”

“L-Lya,” Shaena managed in reply, hugging Lyanna again.

“Heard my brothers calling me that, did you?” Laughing, she drew away from Shaena. “I know you should like little better than to sit here with me in my cramped tent, but I promise you will feel much better in your own rooms.”

Shaena gave a shake of her head and dropped into a sitting position. Lyanna would have tried to lift her, but past experience had taught her that such tactic rarely worked. Shaena was both taller and slightly more fleshy than her.

“Lya,” she repeated and it sounded somewhat like an order. Then, without as much as a by your leave, the girl started drawing up her skirts. Lyanna moved to stop her and tell her it was not done, but then Shaena was lowering one of her stockings and pulling out a piece of paper. As if struck, Lyanna fell back down.

Frowning the princess held the paper out to her. Her hand was shaking slightly. Lyanna held her own hand out to receive whatever that was. She took it and peered down at it. It was just a strange pattern of symbols that Lyanna could not recognise. One or two looked to be runes, but the others reminded her rather of High Valyrian. Either way, she could not make sense of it “Where do you have this from, Your Grace?”

A shrug was her response. Lyanna sighed. The poor girl, she must have felt awfully bored, to be copped up all day in stuffy rooms. Alas, she could not be kept here, in the she-wolf’s tent. Knowing she had little choice in the matter, Lyanna rose to her feet and held a hand out. Shaena allowed herself to be pulled up. “I am taking you back to Her Grace the Queen.”

Shaena nodded and offered a wide smile.

Lyanna supposed her brothers could withstand a bit of worry even without her to hold their hands through it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Melara scoffed lightly. “Be reasonable. You are seen with this many armour pieces, even the village idiot will have an easy time of piecing it all together. If we are to dispose of it, we should do so discretely All three of them looked towards the shield. “That, most of all,” continued Melara. “You should leave it here for the moment.”

“But if someone were to find it here,” Ned began, truly un certain.

Benjen interrupted. “I think she’s right, brother. We can hide it here until sundown and then one of us may come and dispose of it.” He nodded towards Melara. “We cannot thank you enough for your aid.”

“Think nothing of it.” She smiled sweetly at the two of them. “I am certain Cersei will have some favour or another to ask in exchange.” At the look on Ned’s face she smothered a giggle. “Never fear, Cersei has nothing nefarious on her mind.”

At least it was to be hoped. One could never truly say with Cersei. “I assume that this would be all. Then I shall take the helmet and these,” she pointed to some other pieces strewn on the ground and see that they made a time exit from our lives.”

And with a nod of her head she was gone, carrying her burden away.

Left alone, the brothers took a moment to think in silence. It was a surprising turn of events. “And you say he seemed determined?” Eddard asked of Robert.

“More than that. He seemed sure of his success.” Benjen shrugged. “Lyanna. poor soul, looked rather like she’d swallowed something vile at his words.”

“Benjen, truly. I shan’t speak against it. Father had already decided.” The eldest brother’s eyes narrowed in warning.

Benjen waved it away. “They are not yet wedded. Nothing had been decided. Just keep this in mind, Ned; she helped you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly belated UPDATE (also, sorry for yelling): This was a test. Yup, you've read it right. 
> 
> It's a bit of an experiment, you seem to test reactions. I'm trying to figure out what exactly is going wrong with my writing. IDK and I'm growing a bit tired of wondering.
> 
> But that's enough about me. :) Hope you've enjoyed the chapter and the next post is not yet planned. Anyway, you'll see notes in case any decisions are made. 
> 
> Have a nice (or good) day/evening/night.


	9. ix

The Princess pulled on Lyanna’s arm with surprising strength. For her part the she-wolf was doing her best to keep up. She had intended to take Shaena back to the keep and make sure she was left in proper care. Alas, the Princess had had another plan entirely. So Lyanna was now following her through a maze of passages, her heart beating faster and faster.

When they finally stopped Lyanna was uncertain if it was because of the fact that they’d reached their destination, or if Shaena was too tired. But the Princess was pounding on the door the next moment, loud enough to wake the dead, or the ghosts if any were about. While Lyanna was begging the gods not to send some phantom their way the incessant noise did not give way.

It was no ghost she should have feared, of course. It was a person. The living were, and always would be, much more dangerous than the dead. But that lesson she’d yet to learn and wouldn’t for mayhap a few years more. Instead, Lyanna looked up as the door creaked on its hinges, opening a tad too quickly.

Of all the places to be taken to, Lyanna had not expected it was to Rhaegar Targaryen that Shaena would lead her. And the Prince had not expected it either if the look on his face was anything to go by. “What in the name of the Seven–“ he’d begun to say before taking notice of her and, suddenly, the words seemed to freeze on his lips. Eloquent speech gave way to a long, searing stare that effectively trapped the she-wolf where she stood.

That was just as well, she supposed, for no words came to her mind either. All she could do was stare back, not entirely certain of what she ought to do. Shaena, on the other hand, had no such dilemmas to deal with. With ease that betrayed her simplistic view of the world she caught onto her brother’s arm and leaned into him, on her lips a simple demand. “In.”

Blushing furiously, Lyanna pulled the Princess back gently. “Your Grace, if it be appropriate, I shall leave the Princess in your care.” She could not possibly step into his private chambers. It was simply unthinkable. She was not yet that desperate. But just as she was to make about to make away, movement caught her eye.

Over Rhaegar’s shoulder she saw the tall, slender form of one Joanna Lannister and, in the same moment, her heart gave a painful lurch.   She’d not considered depravity for even a moment. There was a simple reason for it. And that was as followed, appearances did not suggest it. Yet, to have reached such a conclusion only prompted the question of why exactly Joanna Lannister stood in the Prince’s room.  

Lady Lannister had noticed her as well. “Lady Lyanna, what a pleasant surprise.” And she did look it; rather like Lyanna’s arrival was a true surprise. Pleasant she knew no if it was.

The Prince, however, had changed the focus of his attention. He peered intently at his sister. “Shaena, what are you doing?”

That prompted Lyanna to look at the Princess as well. Shaena had retrieved her writing and waved it before her brother’s face as if he was supposed to have taken notice of it long before. He took it from her and without looking it over passed it to Lady Joanna. “A moment,” he spoke, glancing over his shoulder. “I shall returns in a moment.”

The smile upon Joanna Lannister’s face died away and her green eyes narrowed slightly. It occurred to Lyanna that she had been dragged into some sort of trap. Her own gaze travelled to Shaena. Unbothered, the Princess smiled softly. Good gods, what exactly had she gotten herself into? An answer would come soon, she knew the moment Rhaegar stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

Silently, he offered one arm to Lyanna and took his sister’s hand with his other. Both of them were then led down the hall. Shaena was promptly invited to step into her own chambers were a septa was awaiting her arrival. “Make sure she keeps to these rooms,” Rhaegar warned, and for the very first time Lyanna detected something other than pleasantness in his voice. A jolt of fear coursed through her.

With Shaena out of the way, it was her turn. The she-wolf wondered in excuses would work. Or mayhap she should make use of the opportunity. Before she could decide on one or the other, Rhaegar had started walking, his strides long and fast, and she was forced into a light jog in order to keep up with him.

“What in the name of the Father are you doing here?” he questioned as they reached the stairs.

“I told you, I’ve brought your sister back.” Lyanna tensed slightly at the look he gave her. “She was in my tent. I brought her back. There is nothing else to it.”

They passed the guards at the gates silently. Rhaegar led her into the sea of tents. He was likely just taking her back to her aunt. A question rested on the tip of her tongue, but she could not bring herself to ask him. Instead, she allowed him to lead her past the flying banner of House Stark and hoped her brothers were too busy to notice. Most people had retreated to the melee as it was.

Once having reached her uncle’s encampment, Rhaegar spoke again. “Which one?”

“Middle.” He was going to enter her tent. Lyanna was unsure if she ought to be thrilled or scared to death. Her brothers might have still left pieces of armour there. The gods knew she could not be sure of the Prince’s intention.

Still, he simply took her inside and drew the tent flap closed. “Not so many ears here,” he said softly. It surprised her somewhat that he wasn’t looking around. “Since this cannot be avoided, I’ve a request to make of you.” Lyanna gave a soft nod, not taking her eyes off of his. “What you saw on this day. You must never mention it. To anyone.”

Everything suddenly made sense. Of course; it was a plot. “I want to help.”

“You can help by keeping quiet,” was the answer.

But Lyanna shook her head and caught him by the arm. “Nay, Your Grace, I want to help. Isn’t there something ?”

He seemed astonished. “Lady Lyanna, your father wishes no part in this.”

She should have known. She should have suspected it. That was why he’d accepted in the end, because he was certain she would fail. Angered, Lyanna gave another shake of her head. “There might be a way, Your Grace. How much do you need the North?” It was insane. And it was likely to backfire. But Lyanna trusted that even if angered her father would see the best course of action. The Prince only had to accept.

“Enough,” Rhaegar answered. “What do you have in mind?” The truth of it was the he just did not know what to make of Lyanna Stark. She had her own plans to be sure. And it was quite clear that they involved him. But if she sought him out because of inclination or need or simple greed he couldn’t say. The question was if he was willing to accept her thus.

“Wed me.” A simple solution that could only complicate matters. Wed her. She was asking for a lifelong commitment. “It would be a fair enough trade, Your Grace. You would gain the North.” Or her father could ask for an annulment if he was bent on it. He could cause a scandal. Of course, an annulment would be infinitely more complicated to obtain if the marriage was consummated.

“Do you desire the position of Princess so much?” He should accept, he knew. There was little else he could do in order to saw Rickard Stark.

“May I be frank?” Her question was met with a nod. “Most of all I desire to not be wed to Robert Baratheon.” That came as a surprise. “I shan’t make impossible demands, Your Grace. I will be a good wife.” And interesting mixture of cunning and sincerity. “Such an alliance would be good for the both of us.”

Aye, it undoubtedly would. And he did need the North. She had much to gain from it, so it stood to reason that she was not trying to lead him into a trap. As for other considerations, Lyanna Stark was young, healthy and quite pretty. “This alliance must be sealed fast.”

“This very moment, if Your Grace wills it. Though, we do need to find a septon.” Having received the answer he was looking for, Rhaegar gave her a nod.

“Later, after sundown, meet me a little ways into the woods. I’ll have everything prepared.” Unexpectedly, a smile bloomed on her face at his words.

“Your Grace, is the King still of a mind to find the mystery knight?” She’d stepped closer to him and her arms wound tightly around his own arm. Rhaegar looked down at her. “Mayhap I could aid in that as well.”

“Do you know who it is? Then you must warn him away. The King is dangerous.” All the better if the man fled altogether, dropped off the face of the earth.

“I can bring something of his, to convince the King that the knight is gone.” Her words needled him. Just how close was she to the knight? Rhaegar didn’t ask. What should it matter? But Lyanna surprised him yet again by rising on her tiptoes of pressing her lips to his in a brief, artless kiss. “It could be well between us. I’ll be waiting after sundown then.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Joanna gave a light shake of her head. “Your Grace, how can we be sure she will not betray us?” Rhaegar understood her worries, but he was convinced that Lyanna would not. She liked him well enough and she wanted something from him.

“Lady Lannister, you must trust me on this. She will not. Can I count on your support?” It was truly good and well that Tywin Lannister allowed himself to be ruled by this woman. “I need the North.”

“There are other ways,” Jon Connington offered. Those ways involved schemes and accusations. Time would be needed to set them into motion.

“But this is by far the best of them,” Arthur Dayne volunteered. “I’ll be your witness, Your Grace.”

And that was that. Rhaegar gave a nod and dismissed them all until sundown. He remained as he was until the last of them had made it out the door. Just as he was about to sit up and make his way to the Queen, the door opened and Arthur stepped back in.

“Have you changed your mind, Dayne?” the Prince quipped.

“Not at all, but I wonder, what sort of woman is she to proposition you so brazenly?” Not that Rhaegar hadn’t had more brazen propositions in the past. Arthur grinned. “I suppose I needn’t warn you that you ought to consider this carefully. A wife is a life investment.”

“One which you would known nothing about,” Rhaegar returned. “I must wed anyway. This actually serves me quite well.”

“I know enough about other men’s wives, my friend. I hardly need one of my own.” Again with his Dornish witticism. Rhaegar could not help but feel amused. “This one spells trouble.”

“Not more than I’ve already taken on,” he sighed. “If ever I have cause to worry, then it would be because of her brothers.” He’d heard that Brandon Stark was quite good with a sword.

Arthur snorted. “I doubt the lass would set them on you, and as her brothers, I’m fairly certain they wouldn’t wish to make a widow out of her as soon as that.”

Thoroughly comforted in that, Rhaegar sent his friend on his way. In the end he decided against seeking the Queen out. The less she knew, the better. Rhaegar waited in his rooms for the sun to set. He could have walked outside; he could have trained more for the joust. But he did not wish to, not at the moment. There were far more important matters to contemplate. And one of them, a very prominent one, was his future wife.

He had observed her with Robert. That had been when Shaena had pointed her out. Had there been any sign of antipathy? He could not remember, nor could he understand her aversion. Robert was the dream on many a maiden. He’d perhaps done something to upset her.

Whatever the case, that had brought Lyanna Stark to him. And he was glad for it, in his own way. It was a fortunate enough event. He wondered if Robert would make a fuss over what was to happen. That would be a sight.

Amusement vanished however when he thought of his own father. It was a risk they were taking. And it all depended on his father’s mood if they survived or not. That was, mayhap, the most frightening of all. Depending on the whims of a madman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this should be over in a chapter more, guys. 
> 
> So I hope you've enjoyed this one. Do drop a line if you feel like it.


	10. x

"Have you gone utterly mad?" Ned hissed through clenched teeth, all the while glaring angrily at his younger sister. The effect of it might have been ruined by Benjen's snickering, but he couldn't be bothered to turn around and shush the other. "You cannot get married just like that."

"And yet I am," Lyanna drawled, tying a golden girdle around her waist. "This is my chance, Ned. I finally have a choice."

"But Robert–" he tried to cut in.

His sister, however, would not be dissuaded by such paltry an argument. "In all honesty, brother mind, I couldn't care less for that if I tried. Father allowed that I might choose another husband for myself, provided that he is in a position that surpasses Robert's. And I have. I am wedding the Prince."

"He could be lying to you." That she'd not thought of, he was certain. "Have you considered that is might be a ruse?"

"You have a very suspicious mind," Lyanna accused upon a giggle. "If indeed he is lying, I can only ask why. Why would be lie, Ned? He is not deceiving us. That I can promise you. But if it makes you feel any better, then do come with me. You can be my witness."

She would have taken Benjen, but Benjen was not yet a ma grown and as such, him witness to the proceedings did not count. Besides, someone had to make sure Brandon did not discover them. If anything he was liable to ruin it all. And then Lyanna would have to wed Robert. A shudder ran down her spine at the distasteful thought. Before she could voice anything else though, Ned began speaking once more.

"And what of the promise you made him?" She had said she would bring him something of the knight's. "How shall you explain that?"

"With honesty, I presume. After we are wedded, he is bound to protect me, is he not?" As plans went, it was a good one, Lyanna reckoned. The Prince needed the North, she needed him so as to not wed Robert and through their marriage Rhaegar would gain help from her father and she would have his protection. "Now, do stop trying to convince me I am making a mistake and push that shield behind the trunks, will you?"

Ned grumbled but complied, pushing the shield behind the tallest of the trunks. In the meantime, he tried to think of any reason that might stop Lyanna. "What of our poor mother? Do you not care that she had been preparing you a dress?"

"Mother shall be pleased with the match." At that Benjen laughed out loud. "Do stop, Ned, or I might just decide to go on my own."

The surest way to get one of her brothers to do something for her was to be sweet to them, but Lyanna hadn't enough patience for cajoling at the moment, nor did she feel up to an out and out battle. So that left her with cutting comments and a short temper.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Leaves and twigs crunched beneath the weight of thick-soled boots. Lyanna was even more aware of these sounds as she would have normally been. It was her nerves, she told herself. But no matter that she knew better, the she-wolf could not help but be nervous. The blame, of course, belonged to Ned. He had pestered her and pestered her until his words were revolving around her head in a great swirling mist that threatened to leave her light-headed and incapable of coherence.

Still, she would not back down. Not when she was so very close to achieving her goal. Whatever else might be said of her, Lyanna knew she had sufficient determination to carry her through much of anything. And a good dose of audacity. Unlike Ned, who was for the most part mindful of his actions and words, Lyanna had only recently developed that particular trait. That was not to say she could not be attentive or mindful; it was rather that for the most part she'd been allowed to run free. Yet she did know when the time came to stop games and become serious.

And this was one such time.

At her side stood Eddard. One hand had grabbed onto hers, holding her securely, the other carried the shield. Lyanna had wanted to carry it herself, but the winding path and the long walk had convinced her that her arms would ache too much if she did. So she allowed Ned his way to save herself the pain. That was one of the joys of having older brothers. Their aggravating manner Lyanna was inclined to consider a tithe for all the good turns they did her. It was good to keep in mind that they did wish her the best. Even if they had a strange way of showing it.

Lyanna drew the cloak tighter around herself as they entered deeper into the woods. From somewhere ahead a frail light could be seen. No doubt it was a gathering of torches. They were drawing closer. Rhaegar had said he'd be waiting for her not very deep into the woods. "Look over there," she whispered to her brother.

"Aye, I see it too," Ned answered. "Come along, if we hurry we shall reach them before the new year comes." The comment earned him a kick to the leg from his sister.

"I am not slow." It was just that she'd been a wee bit unsettled about the whole matter as the wedding itself approached. Lyanna supposed it was not a true wedding, or at least not a proper one in accordance to her rank. But it would serve. A feast could he held after.

"Indeed, you are a rock," her brother quipped back. "You are the one who wanted to be here." The reminder was not helping matters, though it served to anger Lyanna into a quicker pace. "There, have some heart."

The only heart she wanted at the moment was Ned's, bloody and gory and lying on the ground. He, however, took no heed of her mood and simply barrelled on. "If we are caught, I'll be sure to tell them it was all your idea and I was tricked into coming along with you." And that was his gratitude. Lyanna snarled and refused to dignify his words with any other sort of response.

Thankfully, they had reached a small clearing where a small number of people had gathered. Lyanna recognised the Prince and Lady Lannister, she saw Arthur Dayne and another Kingsguard whose name she did not know and whose coat of arms she could not make out in the poorly lit environment. A tall red-headed man rested his long frame against a tree, small, beady eyes trained on her. Lord Whent himself was there as well. An old, stooped septon had been conversing with one of Rhaegar's squires, but now gazed at her. And to Lyanna's great surprise, the lovely Ashara Dayne appeared from behind a tree in her hand a pristine ribbon.

Lyanna thought she heard a sharp intake of breath and struggled to keep her features impassive in the face of what she witnessed. She'd known her brother had developed some sort of attachment to Lady Ashara, and would go as far as to call in infatuation. What she hadn't known was that the lady felt the same. How she would tease Ned when the opportunity presented itself. Until then, however, she had more pressing matters to attend to.

She elbowed Ned gently when he did not let go of her and that particular motion seemed to revive the company. The Prince walked towards her and her brother. "Lady Lyanna, I was starting to worry."

"Apologies; convincing one's brother is something more difficulty than one anticipates." Of course that had Ned sputtering about her own dawdling and that he hadn't needed convincing. Lyanna dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "I see you have found a septon."

"One needs but know where to look." But the Prince was not looking at her. He was glancing at the shield. After inspecting the painted wood, his gaze shifted to Ser Arthur. They exchanged nods. Afterwards he looked back at her. "We should proceed. 'Tis unwise to linger."

Nodding her had in agreement, Lyanna grabbed Ned's arm in a reassuring gesture before letting go and following Rhaegar before the septon. The old man began the well-known performance. It was a pity this was not a godswood, but Lyanna was fairly certain it was safer as well. Besides, this was the perfect opportunity to make use of those vows she'd been learning for some time.

So it was that Lyanna received the Prince's word and gave promises of her own in return, their hands tied together with the silken ribbon Ashara Dayne had produced from no one knew where. Fighting to keep a smile off of her face, Lyanna took in the cool night gale that shifted through the trees and was much relieved when Rhaegar presented her with a cloak of his house. She was safe; safe from Robert and any other plans her father might have had for her.

That done, those present were instructed to return one by one to their accommodations with as little noise as possible. Lyanna wondered what she and Rhaegar were to do when the last person took their leave. Incidentally, Ned had been that person and he hadn't neglected to give her a long, telling glare.

"Your brother does not seem best pleased." His words gave her a start. It was a bit strange to be utterly alone with him. Even when they'd been alone together in the hallway, Lyanna had known that quite a few persons were nearby.

"He shall get over it soon enough," she assured her husband nonetheless. "And I have kept my word as well." She pointed towards the shield that had been left leaning against a tree trunk.

"Do you know who the knight is? The very person?" Rhaegar walked away from her and knelt in front of the shield, holding the torch above it.

"I do." She walked after him, kneeling by hid side. "He never meant any harm. Would it be too much to ask that the hunt be put a stop to?"

He looked her in the eye s then and a small smile made its way upon his face. Lyanna hadn't quite realised he would look so charming when he smiled like that; like they shared some sort of intimacy. "Consider it done. My morning gift to you, as it were."

"But, Your Grace, you do not know if you will be pleased yet." That aside his words reminded her that on this night, for the very first time, she would be sharing her bed with a man. Not any man, mind, but her husband. It was thrilling beyond comparison. And frightening as well.

"But I do know." He handed the torch to her with those words and picked up the shield. Lyanna watched as he began climbing one of the trees. She held her breath as he hanged it by a strap to one of the thicker branches. That would be the end of it, she knew. He came back down. "On the morrow Dayne shall come and take care of it."

He took her by the hand and they started walking away from the tree. Unable to help herself, Lyanna asked, "Where are we going?" Returning to tents undiscovered was easy. The keep was another matter altogether. The keep was guarded; rather heavily too.

"Do not fret, lady wife." His arm encircled her waist. "Lord Whent is waiting for us. There will be no trouble. Not now at least." Not until the morrow he meant. Lyanna, though not entirely convinced, had been soothed enough to lose some of her stiffness.

And indeed, as the Prince had promised, Lord Whent was waiting for them and ushered them into the keep by a way unknown to most.

With startling clarity, Lyanna realised that whatever happened from there on, she would never have the excuse of claiming others had made choices for her or that the decisions had been removed from her. She would be the cause. Rhaegar led her through the corridors with an easy gait, as if all was right in the world.

Arthur Dayne, the one guarding the Prince's bedchamber, gave them a positively wicked grin for which he earned himself a glare from the Prince and a confused look from Lyanna. Still, they wasted little time. Rhaegar ushered her into the room and barred the door behind them.

For her part Lyanna looked about with a newfound sense of curiosity. She was still quite nervous, but not enough to have been frozen solid. Instead, she walked about the room. Questions bubbled upon her lips but she pushed them away with a flick of the tongue. She was not entirely sure her mouth would not run without her mind.

Surprisingly enough, Rhaegar allowed her to familiarise herself with the environment. He seemed to be completely at ease with the whole matter, not even bothered by having a stranger in such a personal space. If she dawdled much longer, the night would be past them and she would still be a maiden. It was very likely that her husband was trying to give her a choice. But she knew that if any weak link would be found in the marriage, it would be exploited.

With shaking fingers she unfastened her cloak and draped it over one chair. Rhaegar had long since removed his own. He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes trained on her. Lyanna took a deep breath and stepped towards him, wondering if she should undo the fastenings on her dress by herself or let him do it. The question was shortly thereafter answered as Rhaegar hands spanned her waist once she was close enough.

"You needn't me afraid." He was looking into her face as he said it.

"I do not fear you," came her reply.

"Good." His fingers worked the knots holding her overdress peeled to her body. The strings gave way at his insistence and soon enough the soft material of her kirtle was slipping and flowing around her, leaving Lyanna in a light shift.

Moonlight streamed through the windows, the silvery glow strong enough to paint the occupants of the room against the shadowy background. Still clinging to her modesty for some unknown reason, Lyanna sat down next to Rhaegar on the bed. For a moment she was unsure of how to proceed, but he helped her along.

The rest of the memory was quite blurry. A strange combination of nerves and lack of clarity had stolen over the she-wolf at some point. She did remember slipping beneath the covers at some point. he recalled warm skin against her and some pain at being torn Then there was the sweetness of comfort and something that felt suspiciously like affection.

A far better recollection was boasted by the Prince. But then, he was not quite as inexperienced as his bride. He'd not asked of her if she'd been with anyone else before, simply because, being quite young, she would not have had the time. Keeping that in mind, Rhaegar had tried his best to be gentle with her. Someone had told him at some point, he knew not when, that for maidens the whole affair of a first night could be quite unpleasant if proper attention was not given.

His lady wife had been shy at first, more curious and reluctant than anything else. She'd wrapped her arms around him and took the kisses and touching in strides. There was something endearing about the tremor in her hands, something heart-warming about the shyness with which she moved her lips against his. Perhaps it was just the moment.

He'd gently pulled her along with him under the covers after their clothes were no longer an impediment. Once there, she had been entirely more courageous. It seemed exploring came rather easier to her when she had some sort of shield. As for himself, he had no qualms whatsoever about feeling his way along her body.

The difficult part came at the joining. As maiden's bodies were wont to, Lyanna's had been quite resistant and it had taken much soothing, patience and willingness to complete the deed. Not that the Prince was complaining. What followed after was enough of a reward for the both of them.

Thus satisfied, Rhaegar had pulled off of Lyanna's fine-boned, slim shape and drew her in his arms, the covers twisting around them with the movement. She had pressed herself against him, arms grabbing at him in a tight hold.

It occurred to Rhaegar that for having wedded a woman who was little better than a stranger to him, the whole matter was proceeding far better than he had envisioned. His bide murmured something he could not make out, but soon enough her whole frame relaxed and she drifted off to the land of dreams. He knew he ought to do the same as on the morrow it would be his turn to joust, but the gods knew the woman sleeping at his side had all his attention.

Slowly though, even he had to fall asleep, satiated and exhausted in equal measure. It was quite possible that the knowledge he would joust against Brandon Stark on the morrow helped matters a great deal. Otherwise he might have been tempted to rouse Lyanna again. Still, reminding himself that she needed her rest and he did too, Rhaegar mournfully forwent the notion. He would have a lifetime of Lyanna, after all.

That was, of course, if the Seven were good and he did not find himself at the end of a deadly assault from his bride's brothers. Not that he did not expect something of the nature to happen, what with the decidedly approving look he'd seen on Eddard Stark's face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was the loud cursing from the hallway that woke them up. Rhaegar, a light sleeper by nature, was startled into consciousness by the voices coming from the other side of the door. Lyanna had followed him shortly after, her body tensing when she realised what exactly was going on.

"My brother," she spoke in a horrified whisper. Rhaegar could not tell if it was the older or the middle one and he hadn't the time to at any rate. With a light shake of his head, he peeled the covers away from himself and started dressing, aware that Lyanna's eyes were on him.

If he were of a more scandalous bent, he might have discarded all thought of confronting her brother and simply return to the warmth of the bed. The Seven knew his body did not protest the thought. Alas, his intention was not to shame Lyanna. So he turned towards her after he was fully dressed and saw that she took had begun putting her garments on.

"You may remain here if you wish." Mayhap what her brother had to say was not something she wanted, or even should have to, hear.

Lyanna shook her head though. "That's Brandon, Your Grace. He is likely to commit murder before he listens to you. But I am his sister."

"You are saying that he would refrain from killing you?" He helped her with the ties, quite certain that whatever went on outside, Arthur could deal with it for a little while longer.

"Nay, but he would think twice in any event." The wryness of her answer extracted a smile from him.

What should have been a pleasant moment was interrupted by a string of vile invectives that more than tempted Rhaegar to throw thee door open and put an end to it. It seemed there was to be no more delaying.

To his astonishment, Lyanna curled her fingers around his in a secure hold before he could reach the door.

She did not know what she'd expected when they came out of Rhaegar's bedchamber. But the sight before her was most surprising. A very angry Arthur Dayne had unsheathed his weapon of choice, presumably because one of her brother had injured him. Lyanna could see a streak of blood making a path down from his lower lip. Glancing at both Brandon and Ned, she noticed that it was the second one whose knuckles had been bloodied.

Of course, sensible speech was out of the question as, as soon as she and Rhaegar joined the three belligerent souls in the corridor, Brandon lunged for them, making a grab for Lyanna's arm. He might have caught her too if she'd not had the sense to pull away.

"Stop this nonsense," her husband promptly intervened, stepping before her, as if to shield her.

"Nonsense?" Brandon growled, looking about ready to commit unspeakable acts. "You've defiled my sister, you bastard."

Lyanna tried her very best not to be amused at that. She did. It made her wonder if Brandon had the knowledge that she was married.

"Why would I defile my own wife, and more importantly, how?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this would be the last chapter, but I decided to split it into two different chapters. :)
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed yourselves. The finale is coming.
> 
> Do tell me if you've liked it.
> 
> Until next time.


	11. xi

Lyanna knew the exact moment when her brother made sense of her husband’s words. Far from sharing any mind-reading capacities, the she-wolf rested her knowledge on the fact that she was Brandon’s sister and was intimately acquainted with the way his mind worked. It started with a subtle flicker in his eyes, then the tense muscled eased in disbelief. His lips parted in a poor imitation of speech, but no sound came out.

There was a moment of silence between them all. Lyanna would have been much pleased for it to last longer, but, as her luck would have it, it didn’t.

“What?” Brandon spoke loudly, finally managing to shake himself out of his stupor. It was clear to Lyanna that he could not believe it. Though she knew not why. The scenario was not that far-fetched. “With whose leave?”

“Father’s,” she snapped at her oldest brother without a hint of remorse. “And this is not a tavern, so I should thank you not to yell.”Then, conveniently forgetting about Brandon and his rage, Lyanna turned her gaze to Ned. “And what of you, brother? Surely you knew better.”

Ned had the grace to look chagrined. “I was going to stop him,” he murmured, the glared towards Arthur Dayne whose was mirroring him. “He was the one in the way.”

“Of course I was, fool,” bristled the Kingsguard. Lyanna exchanged a look with Rhaegar and was quite surprised when her husband declined to cut in. “Should I have just allowed you to force you way in?”

“Aye,” Brandon barked.

At the very same time, Ned sullenly informed the Dornishmen, “I was trying to stop my brother.”

“You mistake me,” Arthur promptly replied. “The punch was for my sister.”

And just like that, Lyanna managed to make sense of the brawl outside the bedchamber. Brandon, naturally, had come for her, because, to be frank, he didn’t know any better, nor had the necessary capacity to rationalize. Ned had been dutifully trying to avert the conflict, yet Arthur, by now in possession of the knowledge upon the mystery knight’s identity, felt the need to assault the younger Stark. And he had done it for his own sister.

Lyanna would have laughed, she truly would have, if the situation was simply not insane. Instead, she pressed herself into Rhaegar’s side to hide her amusement as her brother and the noble ser Dayne started arguing over who was at fault.

Far be it from her to interrupt such a display of concern for sisters and hearts and honour. Brandon, however, had no such compunction. Rhaegar had remained silent, no doubt enjoying he entertainment before them as if it were a piece of mummery, which it easily might have been with all the dramatics.

“I will take this before the King, Brandon warned, after the other two had finally grown quiet. “You may be the Prince, but you are not above the King’s judgement.”

“There is nothing the King can do,” Rhaegar assured his good-brother, “but if that be your will, I shall gladly appear before the King.”

He might have said more, but Brandon’s whole face exploded in a sea of red and he whirled around with a violent curse, staggering away. 

They did not have long to wait.

Despite what he had said, Rhaegar had no particular whish to appear before his father. Alas, it could not be avoided. The King did need to be made aware of his son’s matrimonial state. The sooner, the better, of course. One could only hope that his father was in a pleasant enough mood. Most of it, however, depended on Joanna Lannister and how she managed with her own husband. Rhaegar rather hoped that Tywin Lannister was as susceptible to his wife as rumours said.

The truth of it was that, at some point which Rhaegar did not care to remember, but which his mother assured him was not that long ago, Tywin Lannnister had entertained some interesting notion of having his daughter betrothed to the Crown Prince. The King had put any such idea out of his Lord Hand’s head and, as a result, Tywin hastily had his daughter betrothed to Prince Oberyn Martell. After all, a prince was still a prince and it was better than a mere lord.

However, some whispered that the Lion of the Rock had never quite forgiven his former friend for the insult dealt. His lady wife, on the other hand, was eminently more suitable for adapting. She had embraced the opportunity to see the Houses Lannister and Martell come together and was not at all daunted by the King’s refusal. In fact, one could speculate that Joanna had been waiting for such an outcome and even encouraging it.

Certainly she bore Rhaegar no ill will. As such, her help was invaluable in an instance such as this. And he was not too proud to ask for it.

On his arm, Lyanna sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you certain, Your Grace, that the King won’t have both our heads?”

“I am certain on nothing where my father is involved, lady wife?” he replied lightly. Lyanna tensed nonetheless. “With enough care we shall escape his wrath.”

As summons went, the King had been entirely mild in delivering his. He had simply called for them. There were no chains, no threats, no blood spilling. That put his son much at ease. So, he simply walked to stand before his parents, Lyanna close to him. Worried as she might have been, it came as a surprise that she did not lose her head.

The Prince dared a look to the sidelines. He caught the eye of Lady Joanna who gave him a subtle nod and would have looked at Tywin Lannister as well had he not been on the receiving end of speech from his father. Much as he would have liked to ignore the man, he could not.

“Is it true what the Stark heir is saying?” the unkempt crowned madman barked, beady eyes shifting from his son to the woman on his arm. “Have you taken Lord Stark’s daughter to you bed?” His father did not seem upset. It was rather amusement that shone on his face. Rhaegar preferred not to know why.

“To my knowledge, sharing a bed with one’s spouse is not a crime, Your Grace,” Rhaegar began. “And as Lady Lyanna is, in fact, my wife, I see no problem with our conduct.”

“Wife?” it was his mother who asked the question. Hope was etched on her features. 

“If His Grace is speaking the truth,” Tywin Lannister intervened, sly as a snake, “then there must be witnesses to this supposed feat.” Exactly what Rhaegar had been waiting for. In fact, his father looked about as eager as Rhaegar felt. It had been wise of him, after all, to count of his parent’s wish of thwarting the Lion.

“I could name a few,” Rhaegar allowed, an almost-smile upon his face. “With Your Grace’s permission,” he requested of the King, whose only answer was a nod. “Lady Lyanna’s brother, Eddard Stark, Lord Whent, Ser Arthur Dayne and, his sister, Lady Ashara, Ser Jonothor Darry, Lord Jon Connington and our own Lady Joanna here with us.”

The King looked malevolently gleeful. “And tell me, Lady Joanna,” he addressed the last of the witnesses, more to needle his nemesis more than anything else, “did the event proceed in such a manner as would make it binding.”

Lady Joanna, never a shy creature, was more than pleased to confirm the matter for the King. “Aye, Your Grace. I myself bore witness to the septon’s word and the vows exchanged. All binding customs have been observed.”

Turning his gaze to a very pale and visibly disturbed Brandon Stark, the King let out a shuddering chuckle. “It seems that there is nothing to be done. Your sister is to remain in my son’s keeping. Little change of your father wanting her back, boy, now that she might as well be carrying.”

Lyanna flushed at the King’s indelicate manner, bit held her mouth shut. It was possible indeed that she might be with child. Who was to say? The most important matter had been settled. Now all that was left to do was make an announcement. A proper one, as it were.

Once dismissed from the King’s sight, the two newlyweds strolled into the hallway, barely managing to keep from expressing their joy for the success of their plan. Brandon, who had followed close behind, stopped at Lyanna’s side.

“Since you are the one who has made this decision on your own, sister mine, you may break the news to Robert yourself.” That rather cut from the joy of the moment.

Lyanna though would not be cowed so easily. “There is little need for that, Brandon; I trust there will be an announcement to let all and sundry know.”

Her brother looked ready to argue, but he was stopped when, from out of nowhere, a young maiden dashed past him, upsetting his balance. Without a modicum of decorum, Shaena threw her arms around her good-sister and made a sound of what could only be approval.

Upon her heels a visibly thunderous Cersei Lannister was approaching. She too took no notice of the beleaguered Stark, yet had much to say to the she-wolf. Most of it was accusations. “What manner of gratitude is this? You wed and tell me nothing? I had to find out from my own lady mother.” The lovely Melara was infinitely calmer, but also full of questions.

For his own part, Rhaegar managed to side-step the stampede and had abandoned Lyanna’s company for Arthur’s, who was trading quips with one Ned Stark. He would undoubtedly find a moment to rescue his lady wife. But this was not it. The gods only knew how she could endure all the attention. Although, truth be told, she looked fairly pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, sweet end, because I'm lazy to be fairly honest.
> 
> Also, if there is still any one of my readers who doesn't know. I'm nearly done with my stories and this account will soon no longer be functional. Just wanted to make sure you all knew. Now that you do, bye, bye, dears.
> 
> Also, if you have the time and inclination drop a line, or a goodbye, as it were.


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